Four Little Words
by Melacka
Summary: Formerly 'It's better this way'. Severus is leaving Hermione, even if he doesn't particularly want to.
1. It's better this way

AN: This is just a short little ficlet from Severus' POV, there is a companion piece in Hermione's POV which I might post later. Please let me know what you think.

AN2: This is also posted on Ashwinder.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just taking them out for a spin

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It's better this way. It really is. I wonder if I repeat that to myself often enough, for long enough, I'll begin to believe it. I know that this is the right thing to do. I'm too old for her, I used to be her Professor, she's too young to know what she wants, she deserves better, blah, blah, blah. I can name a hundred reasons why the world disagrees with our relationship, and I don't believe any of them. Well, perhaps one. She deserves better. I believe it, but I refuse to accept it. She deserves more than I can offer. Who is she? Hermione Granger, know-it-all champion of Gryffindor, creature of light, respected, loved. Who am I? Severus Snape, greasy git, traitor of Slytherin, creature of darkness, death and despair. Universally despised. She deserves more. The world agrees with me on one point at least.

She deserves some bright eyed, sun tanned, silky haired, well dressed rich boy who will take her on romantic picnics, recite poetry and declare his undying love to her in a way reminiscent of a teen romance novel masquerading as literature. The greater part of my brain agrees with this assessment, but I still feel an undeniable rage that any boy would touch her and a sickness in my stomach at the thought that that is what she truly wants. An annoyingly honest voice in the back of my head reminds me that this isn't what she wants. She has told me on more than one occasion what she wants, screamed it to me actually, and that sure as hell isn't it. She wants me. Stupid brain, interrupting with logic when I am trying for nobility.

If I am what she wants, too bad, the world never asks what people want. She deserves more. She will forget me and everything we had. She'll forget that she loved me and do her duty to the world: get married, have babies, live a good long life and go on lots of stupid romantic picnics complete with live poetry readings with Mr. Silky Hair Rich Boy.

And I'll go back to being the shadow that haunts the Hogwarts dungeons, sneer firmly in place and repeating to myself that it's better this way. If I repeat it often enough, for long enough, I may just begin to believe it.

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AN: Please review, I'd really appreciate it. 


	2. Maybe it is

AN: this is the companion/sequel to 'It's better this way', now just so we're clear, this can be the end but I do have more to add if people want me to so let me know what you think.

AN2: also posted on Ashwinder, under the same pen name.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just taking them out for a spin.

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Maybe it is. Yes, it really is better this way. Why don't I believe it? Ok, keep busy, don't think about it. Don't think about him. Don't think about the stupid bastard who sneered his way into my life, stomped on my heart (not to mention my pride) and disappeared into the night. Coward. Didn't even have the guts to say it to my face. Do I really repulse him that much? What did I do wrong? No, it's not me, it's him. It's definitely him. Definitely.

Why? Why do I do this to men? No, wait. He's not a man, he's a snake. Big surprise there. What did I really expect from the Head of Slytherin? Did I expect him to just drop everything and spend some quality time with me? Hold long conversations with me on a range of subjects? Turn sentimental and embrace my little Gryffindor know-it-all soul? He's probably congratulating himself on his escape. Right now he's probably down in the Hog's Head drinking unhealthy amounts of fire whisky and boasting to his Slytherin cohorts about his luck. I bet he's mocking me more than everything else. He's probably laughing over the false sentiment he fed to me over the past few months. Commenting on the ease with which he seduced me while some cheap whore satisfies him in ways I never could. I bet she's a Slytherin. Bitch.

How stupid could I have been? So much for being the brightest witch of my age. Tricked into loving a man who more than likely despises me. He always did. He tormented me and my friends for the seven years we were at school and the three years that we worked for the Order before the fall of Voldemort. After the end he tricked me into believing that he became less like a bastard and more like a human being. When he asked me to dinner I didn't hesitate. I questioned him on his behaviour toward me in school and he explained that he had to act the way he did to maintain his cover. I believed him. Idiot. He is probably repulsed by the very thought of ever being seen in public with such a lowly being like myself. He made me love him, I didn't want to. But I did.

I told him that I loved him, screamed it at him actually. He never said it in return. I should have known better. In all fairness, he didn't try to rush anything. I suppose you could say that he was a perfect gentleman, if you were so inclined. We were together for more than a month before I finally had to forcibly drag him off to bed and shag him silly. I guess he was less than impressed. Now what am I left with? Quidditch players who can barely remember their own names in the morning, let alone mine? Rich boys who are incapable of stringing a full sentence together let alone hold a decent conversation? Old classmates who are intimidated by me? Pretty boys looking for a trophy wife and lots of gurgling children and family outings? These are the options open to me. Joy.

No, don't focus on that. Keep busy. Don't read the note he left. Don't read it. Don't read it. It doesn't matter any more. It never mattered. Not to him. Stupid note, why did he have to leave it? It makes me hope that it may have meant something to him once upon a time. Why didn't he just leave without a trace so I could hate his memory in peace? Four little words written on a parchment rendered slightly illegible as a result of my tears. It makes me long for him. Tell him it's not, I only want him, nothing and no one else. He'd probably laugh in my face, break me that little bit more. Stupid tears, why am I crying? Obviously it meant nothing. Nothing. Not worth crying over.

Ok, focus. Keep busy. Gryffindor courage. Don't read it. Don't read it. Don't read it. Four little words that have the uncanny (and downright frustrating) ability to completely crumble the world that I live in. Four little words.

_It's better this way. _

Maybe it is.

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AN: Please review


	3. Four Little Words

AN: this takes place 2 months after the events of 'It's better this way' and 'Maybe it is'. Thank you to the people who reviewed, I hope you like this one.

AN2: also on Ashwinder

Disclaimer: own nothing, just taking them out for a spin.

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Four little words. That's all it takes. Four little, inconsequential, meaningless, miserable words form a sentence that has effectively demolished all hope I had for happiness. It's better this way. Four little words. That's all it took to rip her away from me and permanently erase her from my life. It would have been so much easier if she had said them to me, I could deal with it then. I could understand someone being better off without me, she certainly is. But I can't imagine being better off without her. In all my years of study, I have always prided myself on my superior intellect. In many ways, life hasn't exactly been kind to me, I was scrawny, ugly and unwanted from my earliest years. However, despite the inattention and the ridicule I received as a result of the way I looked, I was always respected (or despised) for my intelligence. I was usually at least acknowledged. It was the one thing that I was always able to take pride in. But now, instead of being assured of my own intelligence, I am quite certain that I am not only a top level imbecile but that I am also quite likely a certified lunatic. I gave up the one person who ever willingly cared for me, loved me. I gave her up. Four little words. The worst part of it all, I'm the one who said them. No, not even said them, I didn't have the stomach to say them out loud.. I couldn't justify my actions to her when I didn't understand them myself. How was I supposed to assert my reasons to her when I can't even bring myself to believe them?

It's been two months of barely contained grief and an extraordinary amount of fire whiskey since I left her that note. A note. That's all I left her with. A pathetic note that explained nothing and destroyed everything. I've really got to move on, forget her, or at least pretend to have forgotten her. I suppose I always hoped that she would come charging into my classroom (hopefully not while I was teaching) and declaring her undying love and unyielding devotion. But who was I kidding? She's a Gryffindor, she may be brave and all that rubbish those Gryffindor types value but it also makes her invariably stubborn.. Bloody Potter and that cavalcade of Weasleys, I bet they all went rushing to her side declaring that it certainly was better this way, all the while whispering behind their hands that they knew it would never work out. What do they know? Idiots. And bloody Albus, twinkling in my general direction whenever I am within fifty yards of the interfering old badger, sending meaningful looks my way which I dutifully ignore. I did what I had to, she really is better off without me. I need a drink. Now there's four little words that I can definitely understand.

I wonder what she's up to. She never ended up returning my possessions that were scattered around her home. She probably kept them all for some archaic ritual that involves fire, chanting and lots of alcohol. I think I'm well on my way to being fully intoxicated, I don't suppose that's a good thing. On the other hand, maybe it is, dulls the pain. Ok, focus on something. Anything. I wonder if she has moved on. She's probably been on loads of picnics and other romantic rubbish with some pre-approved dunderhead, as thick as two short planks but with a fantastic personality. Lots of fucking sunny picnics with some random inbred twit. I wonder what the chances are of the random inbred twit being attacked by a wild hippogriff. I wonder if I could somehow obtain one from Hagrid and set it loose on every single boy who dared to touch Hermione ever in her lifetime. No, don't obsess. Don't obsess. Don't obsess. Don't bloody obsess. Of course, mass murder is a sure sign of a healthy state of mind. Imbecile. I bet she isn't obsessing about me, I bet she is just fine. Probably already engaged to some boy half my age and with twice my appeal. I bet he's a Gryffindor. Bastard.

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Don't read it. Don't read it. Don't read it. It's been two bloody months I should be over the stupid git. I should be focussing on how much I loathe the very thought of him and plotting his satisfyingly slow and painful death, not trying to convince myself not to reread his stupid goodbye note for the millionth time. Four little words. Who'd have guessed that it could have such power over me. Makes me feel that maybe there is hope. He'll come crawling back. Well, maybe not crawling. Severus Snape does not crawl. Ok, fine, hope that he'll come striding back into my life and declaring that he was wrong, begging for forgiveness. Well, maybe not begging, he doesn't really beg either. Ok, inquiring if forgiveness is perceivable and declaring that he's loved me all along. Ok, focus. Come out of the fantasy, it's never going to happen. Not that it matters. I'm over him. Really. Great, that doesn't even sound convincing in my head. I really should have chucked that note out, better yet, burnt it and all other stuff belonging to him that was left around the house. But no, I have to adopt the ever popular role of obsessive, crazy woman, moaning over what should have been and treasuring everything he ever touched. I really think that perhaps I should seek some form of professional help. No, I don't want to talk to anyone about it. I don't need help, I need Severus. No, no I don't! Woman of substance, don't need anyone or anything but me. I've got all I need right here, lots of books, well, a few. Uh, lots of friends, well in all honesty, a couple. Ok, fine, I've got a nice apartment. Yeah, great going Herms, that's a very convincing argument. Who needs love and companionship when you've got a few books, a couple of friends and a tiny apartment. No one will ever question you on that. Stupid brain! Stupid, stupid, stupid brain! I don't need him. I don't. I. Don't. Need. Him.

Oh, sod it all! Who the bloody hell am I kidding anyway? I've done what was expected of me. I grieved and I moved on, in theory. I dated all the idiots who had the guts (or the sheer stupidity) to ask me out. Five in total. Two tried to feel me up after the first dinner, one stood me up, one snogged like he was trying to taste what I had for lunch three days prior and one capable of boring me to tears with his greeting alone. Severus never bored me. Patronised, yes. Annoyed, very true. Antagonised, on a daily basis. But it was never, ever boring. Truth be told, I tried my best. It's more than I can handle, I should've known better. But I didn't. Ok, fine, I give in. I'm going to go see him. No, Gryffindor courage. Gryffindor courage. Focus. Nope, not working. Sod it all. I. Am. Going. To. See. Him. Right. Now. But, maybe I'll change first. I know that at present I probably most resemble an ad for death. Not exactly appealing. Wait, I don't want to be appealing. I'm going to go and give him a piece of my mind. No crying, no begging, no pleading and no shouting. Ok, maybe a little bit of shouting. He deserves it. Four little words, that's all I was worth to him. Actually, I probably wasn't even worth that. No, no depression slumps. I'm angry. Not sad, not needy, not lonely. Angry. And I'm going there to tell him off. Right. Off I go then. Uh, brainiac, better locate your wand first. Stupid brain! Stupid, stupid, stupid brain! Focus, don't fancy getting splinched on the journey. Though on second thought that would make for a fairly memorable entrance.

Gods, I forgot how bright and cheery the world has a tendency to be in Spring. Hogwarts is still as beautiful as ever. Well, that's just bloody selfishness. How dare the world be cheerful when I'm busy focussing on the mass of pain residing somewhere in my chest. Ah, I love the taste of bitterness in the morning. I suppose its an acquired taste. Ok, here goes. The castle never looked so imposing. I wonder if he's changed his wards, probably has, doesn't want me anywhere near him. Wouldn't want me walking in on him at a, ahem, inopportune moment with whoever he's moved onto now. I bet she's a Slytherin. Bitch. Gods, why is there a sudden increase in pressure on my heart. That shouldn't bother me, known it for months, always suspected it, blah, blah, blah. Well, I almost convinced myself that time. Breathe, just breathe, it's all going to be fine. Sure, if he scowls at me, reiterates in clear detail that I meant nothing to him and I burst into tears and run away to lick my wounds and mentally inflict some more, everything will be dandy. No, that's not going to happen. You're angry, remember? Yeah, that's it. Good, walk quicker. Damn it, Dumbledore's twinkling at me. Acknowledge his existence and get the hell out. Ok, under control, managed to dodge almost all of my ex-professors and quite a few students.

Whoa, a lot of students are leaving the dungeons, some look pretty upset. Ah, Gryffindors, he must have been in good form today. Maybe I'll slap him, that would definitely make me feel better. Yeah, my palm on his face, that'll fix everything. Probably just make me uncomfortably aware of his skin and how nice it feels. No, focus. Almost there now. Damn Slytherins! Why do they have to be so anti-social? Why are they so far away from the rest of the school? Maybe I'll punch him, just walk right up to him and punch him on the nose. Oh, sure, breaking his nose and my nails is really the solution. Ok, I'm here. Breathe, just open the door and walk in. Open. The. Damn. Door.

The door swings open noiselessly but he turns around straight away. His eyes seem to drink me in and I catch a faint glimmer of something that looks like hope in his eyes before it disappears behind a carefully placed mask of indifference. My carefully (not bloody likely) prepared speech dies on my lips and I just stare at him. Gods, he's gorgeous. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept for days and his shoulders are a little slumped. There are more lines on his face than I remember and I've never seen his eyes so emotional. In all honesty, I've never seen a more beautiful sight in my life. I become uncomfortably aware of how much I love this man and even more aware of the fact that no four little words in the world can change it. Damn, but that's inconvenient.

"Hermione."

Oh dear, hearing him say my name, a slight catch in his voice, proves to be my undoing. So, brainiac that I am, do the only thing I can think of. I kiss him. While mentally chiding myself for my weakness and preparing myself for a scathing rejection I almost fail to notice his eager response. Hmmm, interesting. Even I can't mistake this for pity kissing. He wraps his arms around me and groans into my mouth when I tangle my fingers in his hair. Gods, this man has got a mouth on him. I never knew just how much I loved him. Oh dear, getting into dangerous territory now. I can't take another rejection from him and my heart feels suspiciously like it's breaking. Gryffindor courage. Gryffindor courage. Gods no, he's trying to pull away. I make a small whimper of protest and cling to him tighter. Not yet, please not yet. I'm ashamed to feel tears running down my face. Bugger Gryffindor courage, sod Gryffindor pride, I'm not ready for this to end.

"Hermione."

"Severus."

"What are you doing?"

I bury my head in his chest and inhale deeply. Closing my eyes I revel in the sensations of being with him once more. Raising my head I meet his confused gaze. Swallowing once, I try to prevent the tears from flowing. Typical, I come here intent on bellowing out my anger and end up crying out my frustration. Brilliant. I place a chaste kiss on his lips and pull away. I walk backwards toward the door and take in the sight of his class room one more time. I return my gaze to his face and heave a sigh. Gods this man is beautiful. An eyebrow is raised in question but his eyes are still full of emotion.

"Just making a memory."

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Must find Hermione. Must find Hermione. Maybe she does still want me. What did she mean just making a memory? Gods, when she walked into my class room she was like water to a dying man. I knew that I missed her, that I loved her and that I was insanely jealous (and slightly murderous) at the thought of her with another man (or boy), but I never knew just how badly I needed her. My heart seemed to slow down almost to the point where it ceased all movement. I sucked in a breath and stared at her. She was magnificent. When she kissed me, willingly, hungrily, I thought I was going to pass out from the pleasure and die from the pain of holding her again. I knew it could go no further and that thought made me want to cease this foolish existence that I call a life. She cried. Why do I do that to women? Can't I just act like a human being? Can't I do anything right? What is wrong with me? Just making a memory. Four little words. That's all it takes. Must find Hermione. Her apartment, if she's not there I will search everywhere she has ever been seen and then, Gods I don't know. Must find Hermione. Hey, genius, you might need your wand. Right. Wand, cloak, wards. Done. Must find Hermione.

Her apartment looks the same as it always has. Yes, a light on in the window. Gods, I hope she's alone. I hope she wasn't coming to me as a final fling before getting married to some Gryffindor. Bastard. I bet that's it. Well, no point hanging around. Let's get this torture over and done with. Don't get your hopes up. Just walk to her door. That's right, up those stairs. Knock on the door. Go on. Knock. On. The. Fucking. Door. It swings open almost immediately, like she was waiting for me. Tension builds between us as we just stare at each other. I open and close my mouth a few times but no sound comes out. Maybe I should work on my communication skills. No, it's probably not worth it. Communication can be highly over rated. Looking at her, I can see the merits of just making a memory. My eyes drink in the sight of her. Her hair is a frazzled mess hanging around her shoulders and her eyes look slightly hopeful, but maybe I'm reading her wrong. Her left hand is nervously worrying the hem of the shirt she is wearing. Good Gods, that's my shirt! She is wearing my shirt! I didn't know she still had that. She used to wear it to bed, well, until she had no more use for it. My eyes linger on her hands and am relieved to see no jewellery adorning her fingers. A good sign, maybe.

"Severus, please come in."

Her voice wavers a bit but her eyes don't leave my face. She steps aside and waits for me to comply with her request. I step nervously over the threshold and am immediately assaulted by memories and images of our time together. I hear her close the door and turn around to see her leaning against the wall, not meeting my eyes. She seems to be looking at something, I follow her gaze and see a scrap of parchment. Obviously it was one that she had read many times over, it looks fairly worn. I do a double take and realise that it's my note. The note. The one with the four little words. Four stupid words. She still has it? And she's wearing my shirt? Even my suspicious mind can't find a grand scheme in the situation. These things are not meant to be seen by me. A good sign, maybe. She shifts uncomfortably and I return my eyes to her, noting that she is shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. Abruptly she walks toward the kitchen calling over her shoulder something about tea. I follow silently, her back is to me when I enter the small kitchen, she is fussing over some tea utensils.

"Hermione."

"Severus, look, I'm sorry that I came today. I shouldn't have done it."

"Oh, well I-"

"You made it quite clear that you didn't want to see me. I should have respected that. I'm sorry"

Oh, what? This isn't how it's supposed to be. She's supposed to be despising me and telling me in glowing detail of her new found happiness with Mr Silky Hair Rich Boy. Or her recent sunny picnics with random inbred twit or apply for my congratulations on her engagement to some Gryffindor. Well, genius, set her at her ease. No, I can't take it back. I can't snake my way back into her life. No, she deserves more. Oh great work, now she's crying. Again with the crying, Merlin, I'm good at this.

"Severus? Can you answer a question of mine?"

I look at her in weary resignation. Afraid just what question she may be asking. Reminder, she deserves more. Much more. Four little words. Two whole months. Gods I love her. Wait, that's not my point.

"Why? Why are you doing this to me? I understand you wanting to end it, I'm probably the person you would least like to spend your free time with. I understand that. But why, why just leave? Didn't you care at all? Wait, I don't want the answer to that one. I already know it."

I stare at her in shock. Didn't she understand at all? It was for her benefit! Hers! Not mine! Every moment away from her was as close to torture as simple inaction can be. Four little words, that's all it takes. But it wasn't enough. I desperately want to explain it all to her, tell her I want her more than anything in this world, tell how much I love her, how much I need her. Easier said than done. She's sobbing silently now, trying to calm her emotions.

"Hermione, I-"

"Just go, Severus. If this is the way it's got to be-"

Gods, I can't do this to her again. I can't handle it again. I'm in too deep. Before I did it because it was her who would benefit. Great plan genius! Look how well she's doing. She's thinner than ever, her eyes look huge in her face with those damn dark rings around them. Her home's in a state of disarray I could never associate with Hermione. Her shoulders are hunched and shuddering with every breath. In all honesty, she's magnificent. A minute passes in complete silence. I watch her shutter her emotions, just like I do to her. Merlin, I never knew how painful it is to see someone you love shut you out. So I do the only thing I can do, I kiss her. The kiss is intense and I am lost. I know there is no way I can just leave after this. I'm not particularly upset about that to be honest. She moans into my mouth and I break away. Afraid of where this is leading. My breath is coming a little faster than I would like and when I speak my voice sounds husky to my ears.

"Hermione."

"Severus, please. "

"I can't stay, I'll be gone again in the morning. You'll regret it"

"I don't care. I won't. Please, I need this, I need you."

I knew the feeling. Hearing those words fall from her lips after dreaming about it for two long months had a strange effect on me. I looked at her and searched her face for any sign of insincerity. I had rejected her time and again and she still wanted me? I couldn't hold back, I needed this too much. I needed her too much. I kissed her again and then, gods, that floor was cold.

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Gods that was a long night. It took us at least an hour to make it to the lounge room and then another two to get to my bedroom. I roll over to smile at Severus and realise he's gone. I get out of bed and throw on his shirt, exiting the bedroom and trying to look unconcerned in case he's just sitting in the lounge room, reading the paper. Nope, ok, maybe in the kitchen, cooking breakfast? Long shot, but worth a try. Eventually, after an extensive search of feigned indifference, I collapse on the couch. He's gone. Well, I suppose he did warn me. I should have seen it coming. I shouldn't be bothered by the fact that he left in the middle of the night, no goodbye, no thanks for the lovely evening, no nothing. He tricked me again. Stupid git. Ugh, I begged him to sleep with me. I begged. No, this can't be happening. I told him I loved him. Again. And again. And again. He never said it back. I wonder what he'll be telling his Slytherin cohorts this time. Wonder if he'll have more than one cheap whore satisfying him in ways I never could. I bet they'd be Slytherins. Bitches.

How did this happen to me. Again? I let it happen again? I begged and pleaded for it to happen again? What's wrong with me? Well, I'm definitely not going to read that note. It's better this way. Maybe it is. Those four little words. I won't let it destroy me again. I'll go back to pretending I don't care and dating people I can't stand. I'll go back to focussing on not focussing on him and acting like my heart doesn't break every time his name is mentioned. I've done it before, I can do it again. Gryffindor courage. Gryffindor courage. Gryffindor courage. Tears squeeze their way out of my eyes and I let them fall on my lap. I told him that I loved him, only him. Screamed it at him actually. I won't read the note, I'll burn it. Yeah, right. That'll happen. Don't read it. Don't read it. Don't read it. I told him that I loved him! Ok, focus. Keep busy. Don't think about it. I won't read it. Four little words. That's all it takes, gives me hope and demolishes all at once. I can't bear to read it again.

Involuntarily, my eyes slide to where the note always lies. Funny, it looks different. Newer. My breath catches in my throat. He left me another note? Maybe he just rewrote the old one, saw it was getting a little faded and decided that I needed a reminder. Bastard. Gryffindor courage. Gryffindor courage. Gryffindor courage. Sod Gryffindor courage, I wanna see what that greasy git had to say for himself. How he's gonna break me this time. I pick up the new note and read its single sentence. I clutch the parchment in my hand and close my eyes, letting the tears flow freely.

_I love you too._

Four little words. That's all it takes.

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AN: please review. 


	4. Breathe Just breathe

AN: ok, first off., thank you to the ppl who reviewed, I really do appreciate it. Second, this takes place 5 days after the events of the last chapter. Now, there are scenes of a slight sexual nature in this. I personally don't think it's anything really, but just to be safe, I toned it down a bit, but you can find the original (if you are of age) at Ashwinder, under the same pen name. ok, that's about it, let me know what you think.

* * *

Breathe. Just breathe. It's all going to be fine. Think of nice calm things, yes, calm things. Right, the Draught of the Living Dead, yes, that's fairly calm. I bet I could make it strong enough to effectively dispose of every male creature that has ever dared to lay a hand (or a mouth) on Hermione. No, not the point. No Hermione based thoughts. Right, calm things. Lists, yes, they can be fairly dull. Ok, list the ingredients for a Polyjuice potion. Fluxwood, knotgrass, lacewing flies, powdered horn of a Bicorn, shredded boomslang skin…no luck. Fine, think of all the different salves can be used to decrease stress, even better, think of all the hexes that can be used to inflict pain. Perfect, then I can just start thinking about who I'd like to use them on and then I'll probably start hatching imaginary plans involving all the people I want to hex and their delightful future of intense pain and missing limbs. That is not thinking calmly. Ok, calm, pay attention. A classroom full of high quality dunderheads with a potentially dangerous potion. Now is not the time for daydreams, especially when you are dreaming of mass murder. Focus, focus, damn it Snape, focus! I suppose I could just dismiss the class now, hand out a class wide zero for their incomplete incompetence. Second year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Perfect, I could probably even manage to make some of them cry. Go on, a well aimed barb or two and we'll have a satisfactory amount of tears, they're inexperienced, they won't know what hit them. Forget it, just dismiss them, they're not learning anything anyway. Stupid children, interrupting my misery with their pathetic attempts at an education. Dismiss them, you know you want to. Oh yes, then I can be completely free to wallow in my considerable misery in complete isolation and free from distractions. Oh, how I look forward to another fun filled afternoon of depression slumps, highlighted by moments of pure, untainted rage and sponsored by several healthy servings of strangely comforting Firewhisky. Then I'll consume the wrong potion while searching for the one that will make me adequately sober, having the slightly comical effect of making me much worse off than when I began with varying types of nausea to make it interesting, effectively ensuring that I shall miss another dinner in the Great Hall. Then, in all probability I will suffer through a visit from the Headmaster, concerned about my well being, stumble off to bed without planning the lessons for the next lot of dunderheads, get up after a very disturbed and less than enjoyable sleep, consume the nauseating hangover cure and stalk off to have a tasteless cup of coffee in the place of food for breakfast, glaring at anyone who dares to smile. Joy.

I cannot believe that it has been five whole excruciatingly long days since I last saw Hermione. She has not come to see me, hasn't owled, probably hasn't even thought of me. Well, it's likely that she has finally come to her senses about the situation between us. I told her I loved her, well, I let her know that I loved her. Now, she ignores me, again. No contact whatsoever. No 'hello', no 'how are you', no 'thank you for the lovely evening', no 'thankyou for the very thoughtful and well appreciated note', no 'lets forget the past and live in pleasing amounts of sin together for ever and ever'. Nothing. No contact. That's it, I'm going to see her. Dismiss the dunderheads, send your fake apologies to Albus and get gone. Wait, you need a plan. No, no plan, no waiting. I'm done waiting. It's time, now or never type of deal. Ok, first things first, dispose of the witnesses. I don't need the students to see me losing my mind, there's still another half an hour until the end of class, too bad, they don't want it, I don't want it, everybody wins. Sure, that makes perfect sense. So, send the students away with a suitable amount of snark. Yes, then I'm going to visit Hermione, will she even be home? The middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week, she might be working. Not really an issue, I'm still going. Right, get rid of the students, visit Hermione, explain everything, get her to allow me back into her life. A knock at the door. A knock at the fucking door. Damn, I don't want a visitor. I glance in irritation at the door, anticipating an earlier than usual sympathy session with Albus. Just turn away, look busy and important, sound extremely annoyed and maybe he'll go away. Sure, that'll happen.

"Enter."

The door creaks open. My door creaks? How long has my door creaked? I must remember to fix that, I can't abide by a creaky door. Albus shuffles in, takes his time. Sure, I have all the time in the world for pointless visits from an insufferably slow geriatric. Why can't people appreciate the need for overly dramatic entrances, with sweeping robes and intimidation accompanied by an exit that is so quick that it's fairly close to being rude? Why must they waste my time with these ridiculously long visits? Stupid Headmaster, why is he here, I don't want to see him. And why in Merlin's name is he not speaking? I can't even turn around to bellow at the students for speaking while they should be fully occupied in destroying my classroom and failing my subject as there seems to be an unnatural silence in the room. What's their problem? Have they never seen Albus pain-in-the-arse-thorn-in-my-side-but-can't-get-rid-of-him-as-I-owe-him-more-than-my-life-and-sort-of-like-the-interfering-old-badger Dumbledore? Stupid children! Stupid, stupid, stupid children!

"Hello, Professor."

Hermione. Did she just call me Professor? That can't be good. Turn around, no, don't turn around. Breathe, just breathe. What is she doing here? Right, I whine internally for days about why she hasn't come to see me and as soon as she does I question her motives. Oh Gods, act natural. Answer her. Go on, turn around and answer her. Now. You are currently in front of a class full of students and the love of your miserable life, now is not a great time to have a break down. Oh yes, in future I will be much more careful when planning my mental episodes. Imbecile. Right, shuffle parchments, search the desk. Look busy. Why aren't you looking at her? Neutral expression, no emotion, ignore the students. Don't think about the last time she was here. Good, now, graceful and nonchalant. No, do not slip while turning. Nice recovery. Gods, she is magnificent. Maintain eye contact, don't look down, don't look down. Don't. Look. Down.

"Herm…Miss Granger."

"I'm sorry to bother you sir, but I was wondering if I might have a word with you?"

"Class dismissed. I will store what you have made and you will continue from where you were tomorrow. Understood?"

Some fairly enthusiastic agreements sound through the dungeon while they scramble to get out. I wave my wand in the general direction of the benches and their work is bottled and stored. I move to sit behind my desk and try to look occupied. I can't look at her just yet, why did she call me sir? She closes the door and I look up in time to see her sitting on one of the benches. That is not good, I can see way too much of her body to concentrate properly. She crosses her legs and looks me in the eye. Oh dear, why is she doing this to me? On second thought, maybe this won't be so bad after all.

"Severus, I came to discuss something with you and I would like you to take me seriously."

"Well, Miss Granger, I will make every attempt to take your babblings seriously."

"Good, then let me start by saying that if you don't stop calling me Miss Granger I'll hex you into oblivion, and let me conclude by saying that I'm done waiting."

"Done waiting for what?"

"You. I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me. Do you want me?"

I think about not answering. I've worked so hard on ignoring my feelings and it could all be over right now, just stay silent. Stay silent. Stay silent. Oh bugger this.

"Yes."

"Do you want to be with me?"

"Yes."

"Do you love me?"

"Oh Gods, yes!"

"Then why did you leave me?"

"I told you…"

"No, you didn't. You never told me. You left and never told me why."

"I wrote it to you."

"What, that it's better this way? What's better what way?"

"You are better this way, without me."

"Oh Gods, you are an idiot. You thought that I would be better off without you? Are you crazy?"

"I wanted what was best for you. You deserved much more than what I had to offer, romance, picnics, silky hair, beautiful children with your brains and whatever you find appealing about the random inbred twit I pictured you with."

"Fucking nobility, don't try to be noble. I can't stand nobility in a man. None of this crap about you giving me up for my own good, no, don't interrupt. I don't want some random inbred twit, Severus, if I wanted that I'd be dating Goyle."

A disturbing image of Hermione with Goyle sprung unwanted into my brain. Some of those painful hexes came with it. She slides off the bench and walks slowly up to me, undoing the clasp holding her robe closed as she goes. It falls to the floor and she kicks her shoes off next to it. She sits on my desk directly in front of me placing her feet on the arm rests of my chair. She's wearing the black skirt that comes to just above her knees and my old shirt. She always wore the skirt because she knew I loved it. I've missed that skirt. That skirt is riding up nicely, giving me a fine view if I dared to drop my eyes. Maintain eye contact, don't look down, don't look down. Don't. Look. Down.

"Hermione, please, please understand. I just wanted you to be happy."

"Severus, please, please understand. I would be happiest with you."

She moves forward until she is straddling my hips and her skirt is somewhere near her navel. Oh dear, her sucking on my ear lobe is not doing wonders for my concentration.

"Severus?" she purrs into my ear. I forgot she could do that. Foolish man.

"Hermione."

"Don't leave me again."

"I still can't give you what you deserve."

"Hmmm, well, give me you, and we'll call it even."

"Me?"

"Yes, let me keep you and I won't need anything else."

"Hermione-"

"Well, if you'd prefer, I could always go and find myself a random inbred twit to help me out. You don't mind do you? I mean, you're not doing anything about it. I'm practically begging for you to shag me silly right here and now and you're busy coming up with reasons why you don't want me. Do you really want me to find someone else? Someone more willing?"

"Hermione."

"Come now, Severus, I'm sure you could be happy for me. Happy because I'll be unhappily fucking some random inbred twit. Just like you wanted for me. Pretending to scream in pleasure and pretending that's he's actually capable of pleasuring me half as well as you are. But then, that's true happiness. I'll be his. Then, you can be happy for me."

She's serious. She's actually serious. She'd be willing to be unhappy to piss me off. She's doing a fantastic job. The fact that she's currently grinding her hips into my lap is definitely not helping my concentration. Don't think about her with another man, don't think about it. Don't think about her writhing in pleasure and covered in sweat, rolling around naked in some boy's bedroom. I bet he'd be a Gryffindor. Bastard. She's staring at me, she must want an answer.

"I guess that's it then. I'm sorry you feel this way, Severus. I hope you'll be very happy."

Hold on, this is not going to happen. She moves to get up and I hold her down. She looks at me with shock and more than a little desire in her eyes. I kiss her once, desperately, hungrily, before breaking away, breathing heavily. I lock myself in her gaze and get slowly to my feet, holding her legs around my waist. I locate my wand and mutter quick locking and silencing charms, I really don't want a visitor now. I push Hermione onto my desk and scatter the contents in the process. I lean over until my mouth is right next to her right ear.

"Mine." the word comes out on the end of a fairly possessive growl. I move my mouth to her neck and proceed to nip and suck not so lightly at it until I know there will be a mark left for at least another day. Her eyes flutter closed and she sucks in a breath.

"Yours."

I move my (gentle) assault to her breasts and nudge the shirt open on the way.

"Severus?"

"Hmmm?"

"If you ever leave me like that again, I'll hex your balls off."

"Hermione, if I ever leave you like that again, I'll hex them off myself."

"Excellent, as it is, you have a great deal to make up for, it may take days, weeks even before I can fully forgive you."

"Always happy to oblige. Oh, and Hermione?"

"Hmmm?"

"If you ever decide to have a sexual tryst with some random inbred twit, I'll hex his balls off."

"Understood."

* * *

Two months later.

* * *

Breathe. Just breathe. Everything is going to be just fine. She's going to reject you, laugh at the mere suggestion and send you on your way. Oh Gods, that is going to hurt. Everything is not going to be fine. Ok, nothing is going to happen if you don't at least go in there. Come on, you can at least do that. Just knock on her door and she'll let you in and you'll realise that everything will be fine. Go on then, knock on the door. Knock. On. The. Fucking. Door. Ok, good, step one of the plan is now complete. It swings open and Hermione is standing there half dressed with fly away hair. Gods, I love this woman. 

"Hey, sorry but I got home late from work and there was this whole thing with some Muggles and some silencing and engorgement charms. It was, well, it was quite a situation. But, it's over now and all is well. Come on in, dinner's almost ready and I'm already about halfway through getting completely clothed. I shouldn't take too long."

I nod but say nothing and follow her inside. She heads in the direction of the bathroom and I sit in the living room, failing in my attempt to stay calm. I hear her moving about and cursing quietly when she bumped into something. She emerges moments later and moves to sit next to me. Her hair is still hanging around her shoulders but a little more tamed. I watch her talk about her day and the way her brow furrows when she talks about an evil troll like woman she works with. I scowl slightly when she talks about Potter and that Weasley boy, but calm down when she describes how thoroughly bored she was spending time with them lately. Ha! Take that Potter, better than you are! My inner triumph is interrupted somewhat when Hermione gets up to go to the kitchen, saying something about burning food. I slowly follow her and sit at the kitchen table while she serves me some sort of pasta dish I have a feeling that I like. I listen as she talks and try to look like there is absolutely nothing on my mind. She finishes cleaning up our dishes and turns to me, kissing me hesitantly as if trying to gauge my reaction.

"What is wrong, Severus? Because frankly, the last time you were behaving like this you left me and I'm really not in the mood for hexing your balls off this evening."

"I had it all planned."

"You had all what planned?" she sounds a little worried, this is not going well. Oh, well done genius, you made it sound like you had it planned to murder her with some sort of blunt Muggle tool and dump her mangled corpse on her parents' doorstep. Smooth.

"I was going to be nice, well I was going to try. I was going to lead up to it, trying not to give you a reason to hex my balls off, whether or not you happened to feel like doing it. I wanted you to understand my, well, my reasons. But, it's not going to work out, is it?"

"Severus, don't do this to me. Can't things just stay the way they are now?"

"Hermione, I have to get this out, say it to your face and not in a note. Please, hear what I have to say."

"Of course." she sounds so miserable. Gods, why do I do this to women? Well, I've started now, I can't exactly back out. She moves herself to the living room and lowers herself onto the couch, I follow her and sit on the table in front of her. I look into her eyes and read with disturbing clarity the anguish there, I can't handle the pain radiating from her and drop my eyes to my hands. Breathe. Just breathe.

"Like I said, I had it all planned. I hoped to make you a little more open to the idea than you seem to be. But now, it seems that there is no delaying the inevitable. So, let us just get this over and done with, so we can both move on with our lives."

"Of course." she almost chokes on the words. Again with the tears. Surely she doesn't dislike me this much. I just have to get it over with. Don't pay attention to the fact that she's trembling and try to ignore the fact that she's probably plotting your death.

"Look, Hermione. I'm sorry that this probably isn't what you want to hear, especially from me."

"Severus, what-"

"No please, I just have to say it."

I move to my knees in front of her and look up into her confused eyes, still overly bright from her tears.

"I really wanted this to go at least semi-smoothly. I've planned it for weeks, talked to that insufferable Weasley girl, read up on Muggle customs, the way the whole process is done, they really are bizarre creatures, and tried to mimic them. But I can't. I can't ever be a Muggle and I can't ever be a handsome, Quidditch obsessed, starry eyed, silky haired rich boy, intent on giving you everything you ever dreamed of. I can't promise that I will never argue with you or that I'll always let you have your own way. I can't promise that I can conform to the wishes of your family or that I will ever be able to offer anything but disdain to your friends. I may never be more than a snarky, uncivilised git, haunting the Hogwarts dungeons and loathing the outside world with a fiery passion. That is who I am. It cannot be changed, I feel I will need to apologise for a great many things in my life, but for this, I will not apologise. Instead, I will ask you if you would accept me as I am enough to become my wife."

"Severus, what? Are you asking me-"

"Hermione, will you marry me?"

I pull a ring that I braved Muggle London to find from among the folds of my robe and offer it to her. She looks at it, then at me. I hate how that came out, I sounded like a love sick adolescent, this is not going well. Gods, four little words are still ruining me. She's still not looking at me. Oh Gods, the scathing rejection, the ridicule, the inevitable banishment, here it all comes. Breathe. Just breathe. She's covering her face with her hands, is that a good thing? Oh Gods, more crying. Well, that's that then. I smother a sigh and suppress tears, Severus Snape does not cry. Yes, just keep telling yourself that. Perfect, now she's laughing at me, that's much better.

"Yes."

Oh, what? Did she just say 'yes'? No, it can't be right. She can't have said…I'd already planned my whole night where I get unfathomably drunk on my strangely comforting Firewhisky and consoling myself with the fact that I at least got to be a git to the Gryffindors the next day.

"You mean-"

"Yes, Severus, the answer is yes, I would love to marry you."

I'm aware that I'm grinning like an idiot and my fingers are trembling while I slide the ring onto her finger but honestly, I'm not too upset about that fact. I briefly admire the look of the ring, MY ring, on her finger before raising my mouth to hers and kissing her as deeply as I can manage while I'm having trouble breathing. We break apart and stare at each other. She smiles, a genuine smile and I feel myself grinning in response.

"I'm so glad I don't have to hex your balls off!"

"As am I, my dear, as am I."

"I do have a question though, you really talked to Ginny?"

"That I did, and went to a Muggle store she recommended in London. In fact, I do believe that I have to send my compliments to Miss Weasley, she has rather good taste."

"I have another question, you said that you thought I probably wouldn't want to hear this, especially from you, what did you mean?"

"I'm aware of my appearance, Hermione. I'm not exactly anyone's dream man."

"What's wrong with you?"

"I have greasy hair."

"Better than mine, at least yours is manageable."

"I have a big nose."

"Adds character to your face."

"Uh, thin lips."

"All the better to smirk with, you know you wouldn't like it if you had lips you couldn't decently smirk with."

"Pale skin."

"As opposed to me?"

"I am not a nice man."

"Eh, you're all right."

"Hermione, I am well aware of what I am. I know that you shouldn't love me, you shouldn't even like me. I'm an ugly git, hated, despised. Why do you even allow yourself to be seen with me?"

"You think I think you're ugly?"

"Yes."

She moves her face towards mine and brings her hand up, cupping my cheek. Her hand traces the lines of my face, my eyebrows, my nose, my ears, and finally my lips. She pulls my face even closer to hers and places feather light kisses all over my face. The acceptance and love she is showing me is almost too much for me to bear, Severus Snape does not cry. Yes, repeat that to yourself. She stills the motion of her hands and pulls away from my face until she is looking directly in my eyes.

"I don't believe you. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever known. Don't ever be ashamed of who you are, Severus. I love all of you, and there is nothing in this world that can change that. No beauty, no style, no amount of money, nothing."

"I notice you're not denying that I'm a git."

"Well, that is fairly common knowledge. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Understood."

I settle into the couch and wait for her to join me. She wraps herself around my body and I bury my face in her hair. Gods, I love this woman. Her and her bushy hair, know-it-all attitude and annoying friends. Oh Gods, her friends. And Albus, Minerva, oh great, Lupin, she'll want him there. I'll have to meet her family. Will it be a wizarding ceremony or will I have to attempt some sort of Muggle ritual? I heard that it involves a lot of kneeling and talking. No exchange of blood, no bond of magic, nothing a normal person would decently expect. Oh Gods, they'd probably start pressuring us about children. That wouldn't be so bad, tiny people with her hair and my eyes and our combined intellect. They would be so beautiful. No, give it time. Remember, she's the one that has to have them, blah, blah, blah. I wonder what we would name them. No, children are not for a long time, months, maybe years. Hermione, bearing my children. Oh Gods. Breathe. Just breathe.

* * *

AN: please review 


	5. I can't handle this

AN: the wedding, let me know what you think, oh, and the problem with unsigned reviews has been fixed, sorry abt that, I was in a hurry the day I signed up and I didn't realise. And, I have now broken up the paragraphs a little to make it easier to read (thanks Susanne for the suggestion).

AN2: also on Ashwinder

* * *

I can't handle this. I definitely cannot handle this. I feel like I have been lowered without my wand into a pit of highly venomous and potentially dangerous snakes. Hundreds of them, all desperate for blood. More specifically, my blood, or my balls, whichever they happen to get to first. Well, not exactly. I suppose it's more like I have been lowered into a pit of slightly disbelieving lions, without an exit in sight. And I suppose they're not really out for blood, they mostly seem to be desperate for an alarming mixture of hugs, kisses, excessive intakes of alcohol and the promise of babies in the near future. Though perhaps not all at once. But this doesn't stop them from being potentially dangerous. No, no, no. I feel like they're closing in on me, ready to scratch my eyes out, or at least kick me in the balls. Well, some of them anyway. Bloody Weasley, bastard always hated me. He definitely doesn't want hugs, kisses and promises of babies, I'm fairly certain he wants to consume excessive amounts of alcohol though. A smirk suddenly appears, through no fault of my own, as I begin to ponder the possibilities of a fully intoxicated Weasley. He probably wouldn't even notice if I hexed him. Hermione probably would, damn, and I don't think she'd find it half as amusing as I undoubtedly would. Speaking of, where is Hermione? She should definitely be here by now.

Oh Gods, why isn't she here? I certainly cannot be in charge of administering the hugs, kisses, alcohol and babies. Well, I'm sure I could handle the alcohol but I'm almost certain that I am incapable of handling the babies, not on my own anyway. Miss Granger, the lions are waiting. Bloody Gryffindors. I'm surrounded. I, too, would enjoy a mixture of hugs, kisses, alcohol and the promise of babies. Though perhaps not in that order and definitely not under the scrutiny of the entire Weasley clan, a few Snapes, a fellow professor or two, a smattering of Grangers and Harry bloody Potter. I do have some dignity. Granted, by standing in the middle of the Great Hall wearing a strange Muggle contraption masquerading as clothing in front of people I have spent a great deal of my time trying to avoid, humbly waiting for my impertinent Gryffindor fiancé to make her presence felt, I don't have a great deal of dignity left, but that is hardly the point.

Strange creatures these Muggles. What on earth did they have in mind when they created this? Oh, very well, it's nothing so extraordinary but it will lack the appropriate effect when I lose my temper and go storming off to find Hermione myself. For some unknown reason I am standing without robes over this Muggle attire and as such there will be a significant lack in billow when I do decide to fetch Hermione. Honestly, people still refuse to respect the need for realistic dramatics in life and I am a firm believer in dramatic entrances, exits, statements and gestures. This is turning out to be a disaster. Surrounded, completely bloody surrounded. Just stand still, no sudden gestures and don't make eye contact. Although, I would like to see the looks on all the guests' faces. Varying degrees of disbelief, disgust and disappointment. Another smirk, this one almost forming a smile.

I really must stop that, Albus is twinkling right at me. Normal people, when on the receiving end of one of the Headmaster's more 'twinkly' moments either smile nervously or look to the floor, apprehensive and suspicious or blissfully naïve over what he might have in mind. I on the other hand usually attempt to scowl as convincingly as possible without giving away my terror at why exactly he is twinkling. After all, a twinkling Albus is a terrifying Albus. Memories of ignorant students willingly accepting various missions, tasks or experiments from a madly twinkling Albus almost force a chuckle through my lips. Almost. Luckily clamping down on the insane urge before I embarrass myself further, I manage to limit myself to a fairly thin lipped smile. That can't be good, it appears I was smiling directly at Albus. Honestly, if Albus didn't know me so well he might well think I was trying to come onto him or something. Oh Gods, an image pops into my head of me attempting to seduce Albus by offering him large bags of lemon drops and blushingly inviting him to the next Ministry sponsored function. That train of thought is disturbing at best, I would never attend a Ministry sponsored function.

Bloody Albus. And Lupin! Not only is he here (grudgingly by my invitation), he is currently standing right next to me in some strange, symbolic Muggle ritual. Hermione explained the entire concept to me along with a few other eccentricities usually associated with a traditional Muggle wedding. In addition, she had the foresight (and downright malevolence) to inform me of my Muggle related expectations while we were dining with her parents. Not only that, but it happened to be the first time I had ever met them and the first time they had heard of my relationship with Hermione, let alone our engagement. So to say they were surprised would be a bit more than an understatement, most likely they were covertly plotting my death while serving me roast beef and potatoes and attempting to converse with me about anything they could think of. Hermione at least found it fairly amusing. By the time dessert was served her mother had warped our story to make it seem like we were friends and nothing more, living in a blissful state of sugar coated denial, while her father looked like he was trying to figure out a way to remove my teeth through my armpit with some sort of blunt and rusty tool without alerting his wife or daughter to his activities. Now, there's a disturbing image.

So there I was, a solitary wizard in a house full of still pictures and electronic devices and I was being informed of my Muggle marital duty while trying to avoid her father's pointed looks and her mother's sickly sweet version of our relationship. Hermione was well aware of the promise I had foolishly made to her earlier in the day to be on my best behaviour. It was made during a fairly critical point in an extremely passionate bout of lovemaking and I had little choice but to comply. She knew what she was doing, she timed it perfectly and trapped me effectively. I swear, sometimes Hermione seems to possess a form of malicious cunning any Slytherin would be proud of, I certainly am. Well, I'm proud of her substantial Slytherin abilities when they're not directed at me personally, for that is when it rarely ends well for me and she can be dangerous. Hermione is well aware of her abilities and has fine tuned them in her subtle manipulation of me, so much so that I only realise I'm being manipulated when the deed is done and it's too late to refuse. Damn her! She knew I was sentenced to a night of utter civility to her parents and being on my best behaviour for the duration of the visit. That meant that there was to be no snarkiness, absolutely no derogatory/antagonistic/patronising/sarcastic comments directed at her parents and a bare minimum of discreet sneering. So of course, this is the moment that Hermione decides to tell me of the main traditions associated with a Muggle wedding. Something about having a close friend or male family member standing near you during the ceremony. I fail to see the purpose of this whole 'best man' tradition. I certainly do not require Lupin standing at my side when I marry Hermione. Ridiculous, that's what it is. Bloody ridiculous.

I can see him staring at me. He's been staring at me for at least a minute now, what on earth is he looking at? Has he never seen me completely blinded by panic before? Why the fuck isn't Hermione here yet? She's going to leave me. This whole thing is just an elaborate plot to get great big dollops of revenge for me leaving her all those months ago. Gods, don't be so stupid. Hermione would not stoop so low as to do something like that. But still, she isn't here yet. What the hell am I supposed to do if she doesn't show up? Well, I suppose, just for starters I would have to deal with the fact that I would most likely be completely, irrevocably crushed. Well, that shouldn't be too hard, I can handle that. Yes, but after the initial damage control I will have to attempt to control my expressions. Yes, I will be inwardly crushed and tormented while outwardly calm, focused and hell bent on the mass destruction of certain Gryffindors who definitely have it coming. Bloody Weasley. Ok, fine, good, I at least have a plan. It's been at least thirteen minutes. The walk from her rooms does not take that long. She's going to leave me. She's going to leave me here, surrounded by Gryffindors just waiting for a reason to get some sort of twisted revenge on me. Also, to add insult to injury, I am not even able to storm from the room in my traditional style of long stride, high speed with a highly effective and very satisfying mass of billowing robes behind me simply because I. Am. Not. Fucking. Wearing. Any.

"Patience, Severus. She'll be here soon."

Oh Gods, was it absolutely necessary for Lupin to say that? And he had the nerve to say it with a sort of smug calm in his voice. Perfect, just fucking perfect. If a bloody Gryffindor can pick up on my panic then I must be showing more feeling than I'm comfortable with. For Merlin's sake, Snape, get a grip. This is your wedding. It is certainly not a time for recklessly displaying your emotions. Ok, breathe. Just breathe. You're going to get through this. Yes, that's right. Keep telling yourself that. I will only be able to get through this if Hermione decides to show up. Damn her! Where is she?

Bloody Gryffindors! Stupid, meddling, interfering, dangerous Gryffindors! Albus, Lupin, Minerva, all coming in to check on me this morning to make sure that I was in the appropriate attire and that I was suitably prepared for the day and the inevitable events of the evening. First they came individually and then, upon receiving less than favourable responses from me, returned en masse. A test of my patience if ever there was one, although I did receive minor amusement when informing the Head of Gryffindor that I had been sleeping with her favourite ex-student for close to four years and, as such, had no apprehension about the forthcoming wedding night. The look on her face was absolutely priceless. A momentary respite only, but still, better than nothing.

However, the most alarming of these visits happened at around midnight last night, when Potter dropped in for a chat. It was, of course, all the direct result of another Muggle tradition. Something about segregating the sexes for some form of animal gatherings. I, naturally, having decided to forego a suitable male celebration was sitting in my office brooding (though some misguided individuals may describe my activities as sulking, I was definitely brooding, Severus Snape does not sulk!) over the fact that Hermione was having a female animal gathering, or something. I was given to understand that there would be males in attendance in a more or less professional capacity. I did not approve. So, the night before my wedding found me brooding in my office while pretending to grade essays that I could scarcely care less about. I expected a fairly dull evening, a few bouts of rage and jealousy and a visit from Albus. However, what I was not expecting was a visit from Mr. Potter.

He simply strolled into my office a few minutes before midnight, didn't bother to knock or anything. I suppose common courtesy is lost on most of these foolish Gryffindors. Well, fine, he strolled into my office via the fireplace so he didn't exactly have the opportunity to knock but still, it was bloody rude. Having been temporarily shocked into my customary sneering silence, I only watched as he approached my desk and placed a large, unopened bottle of Firewhisky and two large glasses in front of me.

"What do you think you are doing, Potter?"

I did my best to infuse as much venom into my words as was humanly possible. I was pleased to note that my voice also offered a not so subtle warning. Effort was for nothing, bastard just ignored me and opened the bottle, pouring healthy amounts of the liquid into each glass. He raised his eyes to my face and picked up one of the glasses, sliding the other in my direction. I glared, sneered, narrowed my eyes, opened my mouth to protest thought better of it and then closed my fingers around the glass. I really did want a drink. He smiled in something akin to triumph and I eyed the liquid suspiciously. The bottle didn't seem to be tampered with, though I wouldn't have put it past him. I went over the possibility of a last minute sabotage of the wedding with an elaborate cover story of me falling over a rampaging Hippogriff while completely pissed and running off in terror, or perhaps something that made even a smidgen of sense. However, I began to doubt that Potter possessed the intellect required to perform such an act unaided. By unaided, I mean without the input and close supervision of one Hermione Granger. I raised the glass and sniffed it tentatively, Potter had the nerve to smirk at me so I glared at him. A vicious staring competition ensued, until he rolled his eyes, giving up. Ha! He gave up! I revelled in the brief moment of triumph I felt over the golden child of the wizarding world. I admit that the exchange may have been slightly childish but honestly, it wasn't my fault, he started it! Finally, satisfied that the drink was in fact genuine and undiluted (or poisoned) Firewhisky, I raised an eyebrow in question. Unable to even mutter a single witty barb or well aimed insult before the brat began speaking.

"Here's to the future Mr and Mrs Snape." he said quietly, raising his glass with his words.

"Potter-"

"Oh, my apologies. The future Professor and Mrs Snape." he replied with a hint of sarcasm. He looked me in the eye and raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Very funny, Mr Potter. I think you will find that no matter how much you seem to enjoy the sound of your own voice I do not have time for your insufferable lack of neither wit nor intelligence. It was very lovely to see you and I hope you have a pleasant enough evening, however, kindly remove yourself from my office before I find even more reason to do it for you."

"Now, Professor, is that any way to treat a person trying to celebrate your upcoming nuptials?" by now his voice was practically dripping sarcasm on my floor and his eyes held a great deal of amusement within them.

"I highly doubt that you would ever celebrate anything that directly involves me, Potter. Unless of course it was my death, that would indeed be a cause for celebration, wouldn't you agree?"

I intended my words to be filled with a lot more sarcasm and a lot less bitterness. After all, the purpose was to drive him away, ranting and raving about me and conveniently forgetting his bottle of alcohol. Unfortunately, it appeared that my voice was against me. I carefully shuttered my emotions and looked again to the boy I've always hated. He didn't storm out, he didn't yell and scream about my upcoming marriage, he didn't even insult me. The silence deepened as we calmly regarded each other. Eventually, he smiled and shook his head, lowering his glass and plonking (there is no other word to describe his movements, the bastard plonked) himself in the chair in front of my desk.

"Is that what you really think, Professor?" the arrogant prat sounded almost as if he pitied me. Bloody cheek!

"I assure you Potter, I am not now, nor will I ever be seeking your pity."

"Probably a good thing, as I am not offering it."

"Then what, pray tell, are you offering?"

"At present, I am offering you a drink, and as a side effect, my congratulations."

"A side effect, Mr Potter?"

"Of course, I doubt either of us would ever take me seriously if I offered my congratulations while completely sober and in control of all my faculties. Do you?"

"Perhaps not."

"Well then, again, to the future Professor and Mrs Snape." again he raised his glass and, sighing in a bitter sense of resignation, I followed with my own. There was something that looked suspiciously like a smile on his face as we tipped our glasses back and let the liquid burn down our throats.

"So, I assume this is the part where you tell me I'm making a mistake, Hermione shouldn't be with me, I should leave her alone and wait patiently while you fetch the authorities with the power to kill me?"

"The power to kill you? I assure you, if you hurt Hermione the authorities will just have to get in line. And, no, I am not going to try and tell you that. Though if that's what you want to hear I'm sure I could locate Ron for you…don't look so surprised. After I got over the initial shock and constant nausea that your dating Hermione caused, I actually thought you two made a relatively good couple." he paused long enough for a look of pure disgust to cross his face, "Ugh, I can't believe I said that."

"You actually want me to marry Hermione?"

"Ah, well, I don't know if I'd go so far as to want you to marry her, but it's not as if I'm particularly against it either."

"Why?"

"When we were at school, everything was fairly black and white. Good and evil, light and dark, Dumbledore and Voldemort, friends and enemies. Ok, not the best of examples but still, it was all clearly defined. We were all placed in categories and judged accordingly. Ok, it's like Gryffindors and Slytherins, a lot of the time we are as different as black and white. But as we got older, things got complicated. Nothing was simple, it wasn't just about house rivalry, kids arguing, insulting. Instead of life getting clearer as we got more perspective it just got more and more murky."

"Do you have a point?" I said it with every appearance of boredom I could muster but in truth I was actually wondering what the hell he was going on about. Honestly, a Harry Potter with maturity and perspective? I wasn't aware that such a creature existed.

"My point, Professor, is that life isn't about black and white. Life is more than that, it isn't just about sticking to what you know, sticking to your own kind, it's about compromise and all that other rubbish that comes with mixing species, like lions and snakes, for example." he said withdrawing his wand from his robes, I was briefly worried about a cold blooded murder instead of the Hippogriff theory, but he only flicked it at the bottle to make it pour two fresh glasses. "My point, Professor, is that in life, there is black and white, but it's in the shades of grey that we all live. We don't really have a choice. I mean, honestly, a Gryffindor marrying a Slytherin? I don't think you can get much greyer than that." he concluded, picking up his glass and sipping slowly.

"Well, providing I have successfully translated your ramblings into words that can be recognised as the English language, I must conclude that you make a fairly good, if glaringly obvious point, Mr. Potter."

"Well, it may seem obvious but I'm afraid that's about as insightful as I'm likely to get when in your presence, Professor. Especially while drinking."

"Indeed. I thought you were completely incapable of insight, or was your entire time at Hogwarts a very well executed plan to gain-"

"Shut up! I really don't care what you have to say about my school days. I am going to tell you something that you probably don't know."

"What makes you think that anything you could know would be unknown to me?" I sneered at him.

"The mere fact that you are a complete bastard who often has no idea of the realities of the people around you is what makes me think that. Don't kid yourself Snape, you almost destroyed Hermione last time you left. She dated complete, well, for lack of a better word, she dated complete dunderheads. Complete assholes, all of them. She blamed herself for what happened between the two of you and closed herself off from everything. I have never seen her so defeated." he paused long enough to take a large gulp of his drink and refill his glass. He turned angry eyes on me and I felt guilt stirring within me again.

"Potter, you surprise me. I figured you and Weasley would have been jumping for joy, arranging dates and planning weddings once she was free of me."

"You are a fucking idiot! Do you have any idea what you put her through? Hermione and I had to physically restrain Ron from coming up here to hex you into oblivion! Not because he thought she should be with someone else but because he saw how miserable you made her! What the fuck is the matter with you? Did you even give her an option? And did you really think that we would put our feelings about you before her happiness?"

"You're right." I said quietly, he raised his eyebrows in surprise, "She deserves more. I shouldn't be with her…"

"That is not what I said you twerp! I said she was absolutely miserable without you, you great greasy git! Ugh, honestly, when did you get so bloody stupid? Or have you always been this dim witted?"

"Watch yourself, Mr Potter. May I remind you who you are talking to…"

"No, allow me. I am talking to a raving imbecile who one of my best friends is desperately in love with. Though the gods only know why. I am talking to someone who doesn't seem to understand that he should not be so bloody stupid when it comes to what, or more specifically who, Hermione wants in her life. I am talking to a man who is going to suffer from serious loss of limbs if he ever tries to pull another 'it's better this way' trick. I am talking to a man that I have never liked, usually leaning towards a passionate hatred instead, but a man I have grown to respect, despite appearances. I am talking to a man who I will attempt to be more civil to for the sake of Hermione, and I hope that he will return the gesture. I am talking to a man who is going to marry my best friend tomorrow, and he better bloody realise how lucky he is. Because, let's face it, I am talking to a man who is a git, first and forever."

Quite frankly, I was astounded at the matter-of-fact tone he used when delivering his little speech. If he had shouted it, complete with foot stomping and finger pointing I could have dismissed it as the foolish temper tantrum of an immature creature of filth. But he said it completely calmly, remaining in his seat and swirling his drink in one hand, his eyes never leaving my face with a strange intensity about them. It made me uncomfortably aware that he was actually telling the truth. I know it probably cost him a lot of pride to say that he respected me, although he did make it clear often enough that he hates me. Bloody cheek.

"I do realise what I have, thank you Mr. Potter."

"Then see that you keep it that way, Professor." he said forcefully, downing the rest of his drink and slamming the glass onto the desk. He got up from his chair and made his way semi-steadily to the fireplace. I picked up my own glass and swirled the liquid thoughtfully.

"You're not going to wish me luck then?"

"Luck, Professor?"

"Yes, Potter, luck. Or perhaps you had best go and wish Hermione luck, she may need it more than I do. She's having some sort of female animal party…I'm sure you could find her."

He laughed out loud and turned back to face me. "I'm fairly sure that you will need more luck than Hermione, Professor. She does not appreciate being mistreated and will let you know it. Just make sure you never give her reason to hex your balls off, and you'll exist in something vaguely resembling harmony."

"So you're not going to wish me luck?"

"No sir. Luck is not always necessary for success. Instead, I will wish you happiness, and a long and prosperous life. Gods, we all know the two of you have earned it."

"Well, this has got to be a first. The famous Harry Potter willingly conversing in a civilised manner with the great black bat of the Hogwarts dungeons. Interesting, whatever will your fans think?"

"Make no mistake, I will forevermore deny coming here and forcibly remove your tongue if you ever try to contradict me."

"Of course."

"Have a good night, Professor." he turned away as he said this and disappeared into the temporarily green flames.

In retrospect, I suppose it was a relatively decent gesture from the Potter brat. It doesn't mean I like him, and I hold nothing but contempt for the arrogant little shit. Still, although I loathe to admit it, Potter gave me perspective. Potter, of all bloody people. Now I have all these uncomfortable feelings that should be resentment and pure, unadulterated hatred, but no, it feels like the terrifying sensation of gratitude to the dunderhead. This is not good, I am feeling grateful to Potter, accepting of Lupin, impatient for my Gryffindor fiancé, I almost feel as if I could break into a grin except for the minor detail that I feel as if I have been petrified and therefore unable to move, also it would be the final degradation. Again, in situations such as these, what little scraps remain of my dignity should be treasured. Honestly, I'm in Muggle clothing for fucks sake.

Music, oh Gods, enchanted instruments playing a strangely depressing tune. Here she comes. I want to turn around and bellow at her that it was about bloody time but don't have the guts. I'm sure she'd be more than willing to bellow back something about me being an impatient so and so, or words to that effect. Breathe. Just breathe. She hasn't left you, you're both here. And judging by the peaceful nature of her entrance she isn't rushing in to tell you that the wedding is off, so far so good. Look straight ahead, she's almost here now. Do not look at Albus. Interfering old badger. Most important, avoid Lupin. Smug bastard, I can see him grinning. This is no laughing matter. Don't think about your past, the future is on the way. Ugh, that statement is just bursting with shit. Screw the future, forget the past, just get through the present, and go from there. Also, I'm not sure I want to look at Hermione. I'm a little afraid of what my reaction will be, expressing emotions is not an option. I'm afraid that if I look at her and know that she is dressed like that for me, at our wedding, hopefully smiling and radiant, I would have the insane urge to either cry out my happiness on her shoulder of shove her skirt out of the way and shag her silly on the altar, witnesses be damned. Somehow I don't think that that would be in entirely good taste. I may lack certain social graces but if I remember correctly it is usually deemed unacceptable to shag one's fiancé immediately before one marries her with the act witnessed by all of her friends and family. It is not an activity usually encouraged in civilised society. Especially not with these lions on the prowl.

Hermione grasps my hand and turns her face slightly toward mine. I glance briefly at her and raise her hand to my lips, kissing the back of her palm a small smile on my lips. The only civilised way to express my passion, my gratitude and my emotion. Gods she's magnificent. I turn my face back to Albus and nod at him to begin the ceremony. Hermione clings to my hand and I make no move to let her go, Albus is twinkling like a man possessed (honestly, do possessed men twinkle?) but begins nonetheless. I look again to Hermione's happy face and realise that maybe I can handle this after all, even with a cavalcade of Gryffindors watching, waiting impatiently for the bumbling old fool to complete the requirements of the ceremony, the possible humiliation of the celebration following and the fact that Harry Potter was giving me relationship advice/insults. After all, Hermione isn't that good an actress. She is genuinely happy, and after all the 'festivities', and I use the term with a maximum, my absolute best sneer, she will be my reward. That I can handle, even if I am wearing Muggle clothing.

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AN: Please review.


	6. Oh holy fuck

AN: ok, this chapter is made up of some minor smut and a little bit of plot and my attempt at humour. Now, the original version was a lot smuttier (is that even a word?) but in an attempt to keep the peace and observe the rules I toned it down. But, as a precaution, I upped the rating. Now, I am over 18 so I am allowed to both read and write this but if you are notor ifyou don't wish to read it, when it gets smutty, just skip ahead, I promise there isn't much. But if you'd prefer to just skip this in general, I'll leave a short description of what happened in this chapter at the beginning of the next. Ok? So, now I think my butt is officially covered, what all that basically means is read at your own discretion and please don't flame me if you don't like lemons. On another note, if you want to see the full, original, much smuttier version, it can be found at Ashwinder, under the same pen name, but you must be of age and logged in. Let me know what you think.

AN2: thanks to those who reviewed and I would just like to point out that smut is not what I usually write, so rest assured this is likely a one off thing.

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Oh holy fuck. She wants to talk. She wants to talk, that can't ever be a good thing. Last time she wanted to talk it was to badger me into playing nice with a pack of wolves. Ok, they weren't exactly wolves. But in my life I have come to realise that a pack of Gryffindors is very similar to a pack of wolves and even more dangerous. Even worse, she's been away on some sort of business trip for three days. That must be it, she's decided that she does indeed want some random inbred twit instead of me. I'll kill him. Yes, when she tells me she's leaving me, I'll casually inquire as to who her new love interest is and then I'll torture, maim and kill him. I bet he's a Gryffindor. Bastard. No, damn it, Snape! Don't think like that! This is Hermione. Hermione is not like that. She would pick up on that so quickly. Obviously subtlety is the key. Yes, untraceable poisons. I'll make sure he ingests at least three, just to be on the safe side. Oh great plan, then what? She comes crawling back so she can be with someone who can effortlessly kill her? Ok, breathe. Just breathe. She'll be home soon, she said seven. I need a drink, maybe make some food. Bugger that, I'll order some food. Either way, there is no way I am going to dinner in the Great Hall tonight. Oh Gods, I think I need to move. The owl came more than three hours ago and I still haven't left my seat. I'm getting too old for this. What could we possibly need to talk about? We've only been married three months, she can't be ready to leave me already! I anticipated at least a year before she gave up and left in the middle of the night to take up a life with an intellectually stunted Quidditch player, or similar lower life form. I'll seduce her, I'll make her love me. I'll make her desperate to stay, yes. A little foolish wand waving was all it took and my rooms, no our rooms, are completely transformed. Luckily I had already been planning to give her a proper welcoming, the kind that ensured that she would never ever want to leave again. Yes, I will seduce her. Yes, and after it's over she can tell me that it was just pity sex and she is in fact leaving me. Releasing a groan of frustration I lean forward until my head is placed firmly and a little painfully on my desk. I proceed to pound both hands on the desk in a fit of mindless (and somewhat childish) rebellion.

"What are you doing?"

I still the movement of my hands and look up to see Hermione staring at me with a slightly bemused expression on her face. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. There I was, intent on seducing her, clearly demonstrating that I am far more suitable match for her than, well, anyone, showing her how sophisticated and well read I am, or something along those lines, and basically making her want to stay with me forever and ever, and she walks in while I'm having a fist fight with my desk. Brilliant.

"Uh…"

"Let me guess, the desk started it."

"Well-"

"It called you a nasty name? Do you want me to send it to bed without any dinner?"

"It's-"

"Now now, Severus. I don't want to have to separate you two, you seem to work so well together."

Oh holy fuck. She's mocking me, ok, think. Diversionary tactics. Get her mind off your childishness and away from what we have to talk about. And don't you dare think about just what that may be. Ok, come on genius, say something.

"Um, you're home early, I wasn't expecting you until seven."

Nice recovery.

"Severus, it's seven thirty."

"Yes, yes it is."

Smooth.

"Is everything ok? You seem a little-"

"Everything's fine. Are you hungry?"

"Uh, a little."

"Good, I'll order something in."

Oh holy fuck. This is getting to be beyond embarrassing. It's bad enough that she witnessed me taking out my anger on the table but when she ceases her taunting and is actually civil to me I growl at her and treat her like a dunderhead rather than my fucking wife. MY wife, dammit. Ok, it's all going to be fine, just get up and order something from the kitchen. Go on, get up. Get. Up. Off. The. Fucking. Chair. NO, stay down, she's walking towards you. No, not walking, she's practically slinking towards you. How can a woman dressed in such conservative robes look so damn desirable? She slinks her way around my desk and stops when she's standing in between my legs. She seems to contemplate me for a moment before slowly dropping to her knees in front of me. She places her hands on my thighs and slowly slides them up and down until I'm squirming in my seat. She grins wickedly, evil woman. She knows what she does to me.

"What's wrong, Severus?"

"You said you wanted to talk." I manage to choke out, my breathing seems to become a little laboured as her hands move to cup me through my pants.

"And that is a bad thing?" she asks softly while her fingers slide the zipper on my pants down.

"Well-"

"Severus, do you really want me to talk?"

I look down to see her lips are inches from the tip of my now extremely hard cock. I shake my head silently and close my eyes at the first feel of her mouth on me. She places light kisses up and down the length of my shaft while her fingers move to cup my balls. A groan escapes my lips andIattempt to force my eyes to stay open. Bugger it. My eyes fall shut as my head falls back against the top of the chair.

Ok, note to self, get a higher backed chair. That hurt like a bastard.

"Severus, what's wrong?" she asks and my eyes snap open at her worried tone.

"Nothing, well my head hurts but that's only becuase-"

"No, I mean before. What was wrong before?"

"Hermione-"

"Tell me, Severus," she practically growls, I feel my cock jump in response and stifle a groan.

"Herm-" she silences me with a single slow lick up the length of my penis. She pulls back and looks in my eye, grasping me tightly but without moving her hand.

"Tell me, Severus."

"Ulemee"

"Louder, Severus," she says in a commanding tone. I always knew that she could do that, unfortunately, in my current situation it does nothing to deflate my erection, only serving to turn me on even more. Damn this woman, she's going to fucking kill me! She slowly moves her thumb up to rub across the tip, where some moisture has begun seeping out. She spreads the liquid with her thumb and follows the same pattern with her other hand on my sac. "Louder, Severus."

"You're going to leave me."

She stills the movement of both hands and stares at me. We just stare at each other. A minute passes. Two minutes. Then she throws her head back and laughs. No, not laughs, those are bloody bellows. I scowl at her and try to find an appropriately scathing reprimand.

"It's not funny."

Hmm, not really what I was hoping for. I try to sound intimidating and instead I sound like a petulant three year old who's not being taken seriously by his fucking mother. Great, just fucking perfect. She looks like she's finally calming down, no, wait, another fit of fucking giggles. Honestly, is my pain and humiliation that amusing?

"I'm sorry, Severus."

"You don't sound very sorry."

"Are you pouting?"

"No."

"You are, you're pouting. That's so cute."

"Cute? I assure you, Hermione I may be a great many things but cute is not one of them!"

"Is that a fact?"

She's staring at me again. In her moment of gleeful giggling…wait, gleeful giggling? Oh gods, insert sarcasm here, stir three times and allow to simmer. Anyway, during her fit of giggling she had lost her balance and fallen, fairly gracelessly onto her arse. She's laying sprawled on the floor and the way in which she came to be there, well, ordinarily I would have found it both amusing and arousing, unfortunately, I am busy being indignant. As a direct result of her laughing fit, and now that she has regained her composure and resumed her little staring tactic, I have a fair view of both her face and her crotch. Conservative robes or not, they all go upwards when given a little prompting. Ugh, trying hard to fight off a vision of prompting Minerva's conservative robes up. Oh holy fuck, scarred for life. Concentrate, breathe. Just breathe through the pain.

She crawls toward me with a devilish smirk I would usually be proud of (but I find I really don't care at the moment) plastered on her face, she's crawling! Gods, my somewhat deflated erection springs back to life and she comes face to er…face with it. She kisses the tip and moves right on passed it, raising slowly and placing her palms on my thighs to gently push herself up off the ground. My mouth hangs slightly open as she begins to sink into my lap, one leg on either side of my hips, my erection lost somewhere between us. Eh, find it later.

"Severus," she draws my name out on the end of a purr, damn this woman, "if you really want me to leave-" she kisses her way up my neck and flicks her tongue across the bottom of my ear, "you know," she moves her lips across my temple and down my face, stopping at the tip of my nose, "I am ALWAYS," she grinds her hips into mine and I struggle to hold back my moan, "willing" she brushes her lips against mine, "to accommodate" her tongue plunges into my mouth, taking a full tour before retreating, "you."

"Well-"

"I best be off. I notice you were disciplining your table when I interrupted. My apologies."

She is getting up. She is no longer sitting on my lap. This is not good. I wonder if it's too old fashioned to just pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, carry her back to our chambers and shag her into submission. Reminder, her submission is not the issue. Go on, follow her. Unless you really would prefer to stay and further acquaint yourself with your desk. Wait, she's turning. Maybe she will hurry back to finish what she started.

"I'll see you around."

Ok, great, now she's gone. Well, granted, she's only in the next room. After her, fool! Why are you not moving? Move, move, move! Yes, that does usually involve standing. Good, now walk! Oh for fucks sake! Faster! No, don't bother closing your pants, just walk. There is absolutely no justifiable reason for travelling this slow when Hermione is waiting on the other side of those walls. Oh holy fuck, she's going to walk right into the middle of my planned seduction. I really don't know if that's a good thing. After her!

Right, so when I said 'after her' it was interpreted as 'barge right into her and land the both of you on your arses'. Well done.

"Uh, Hermione…"

"Severus, you actually did this?"

A cautious glance shows nothing is amiss with my planned seduction. The fire is roaring, the wine is in place, the table is set and sort of waiting for me to get my act together and order some food. I almost decide to lay the blame for this completely clichéd scene on a disobedient house elf or similar, but doubt she would believe me. Come on, a first year Hufflepuff would know better. Honestly, this scene could be found in a book titled 'An Idiot's Guide to Seduction'. Actually, I've heard they have a wide array of such titles in the Muggle world. Hey genius, really not the point! Actually, I suppose, upon closer inspection, there could be a slight problem with this scene. Really, the only problem that could be found would possibly be the fact that we are both sprawled on the floor in an entirely inappropriate position with an inordinate amount of clothing still adorning our bodies. Also, we should be closer. Much closer. Focus! She asked a question.

"Of course."

A bit delayed, but better than nothing. Too many clothes, must take action. Just lean forward and you could almost reach her breasts, provided she doesn't move. I'm leaning, I'm leaning, so far so good. Wait, she's leaning back, balancing herself on her elbows. Smiling in a way that can only be described as evil she raises a finger to beckon me closer. Pause briefly to admire the view of her robes falling slightly open and her skirt riding up teasingly before continuing. Screw this, lunge. Fumbling, fumbling. Fuck! Where the fuck is my fucking wand? Fucking buttons! Fucking conservative robes, who likes them anyway?

"Patience, Severus."

She draws her wand out of her sleeve and flicks it once, releasing the buttons of her clothes. Much better. I lean in to kiss her and gently play with her nipples. I move my mouth to her chest and draw a lazy circle around her right nipple before sucking it into my mouth.A distant banging causes me to pause. Mentally shrugging, I move my mouth to her other nipple, making sure that all my actions are teasingly slow. She's moaning. That's right, I'll show her!

"No, no, no," she moans.

I raise my head and still the movement of my hands, looking at her, more than a little offended. Huh, this is not how it's supposed to go. She hasn't even let me finish. If she would just…oh for fucks sake, what is that banging? I notice that she is no longer looking at me. I follow her gaze, slightly insulted that at the moment she's not even looking at me, and realise that the banging is in fact someone knocking on the door to my chambers. A knock on the door. A knock on the fucking door. She groans quietly and turns her eyes back to my face.

"I see your point." I swear if it's possible there is a definite pout in my voice. I hope whoever is at the door is not one of my students, it wouldn't exactly do wonders for my reputation to be found pouting with my pants down. On second thought, better to be a student than if I were to find Minerva on the other side of that door. I don't think I could handle even a glimpse of her fucking conservative robes right now, too many painful images already associated with…ugh, really don't need to go over that again.

She begins buttoning her clothes again, this is definitely not a good sign. I capture both her hands in one of mine and hold them above her head.

"Whoever it is, they can certainly wait."

"What if it's an emergency?"

"An emergency?" I release her hands and raise a questioning eyebrow, "What could possibly be more urgent than what we are currently engaged in?" I emphasise my point by easing two fingers into her and resuming my previous rhythm.

I lower my head to her breasts, sucking forcefully on one while my free hand toys idly with the other. She closes her eyes and moves her head wordlessly from side to side. Unfortunately, this is the moment our visitor chooses to begin banging on the damn door with much more ferocity and a definite increase in volume. I turn my head to glare daggers (or something equally sharp) at the door, slightly bothered by the fact that a) I cannot in fact glare daggers, and b) even if I could glare daggers, the door would have to be open for said daggers to be in any way effective. Therein lies the problem. I really want to cause grievous bodily harm to whoever is fool enough to be banging on my fucking door, however, I also have a burning desire to keep aforementioned door firmly shut and Hermione firmly wedged between my thighs.

"Apparently there is something more urgent, Severus."

"I am going to kill whoever is at that damn door. Slowly. Painfully," I say as I allow Hermione to get up, somewhat regretfully. "Don't roll your eyes, it will happen."

"And if it's Albus?"

"Oh, I will find a way."

She finishes buttoning and adjusting her clothes, smoothing down her hair (in a futile effort at taming the wild beast) before walking across the room to open the door. Please, don't let it be Minerva. Anyone but bloody Minerva.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

Potter! Damn him! Damn him straight to…well in all honesty, I'd be satisfied with damning him to anywhere but here. As long as the anywhere involved serious, crippling pain, preferably to his genitals.

"I am so sorry Hermione, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that you and Snape were, ahem, busy…"

"Uh, yeah, we were-"

"Really not looking for details."

"Right, so, what's up? How did you even know I was home?"

"Remus sent me, and Albus sent him, I don't know how they knew, but they did. Anyway, they said not to take no answer for an answer-"

"Hence the banging?"

"Exactly, sorry about that. So, they wanted me to tell the two of you that there is a meeting of some description that the two of you need to attend at around nine in Albus' office. Ok?"

He sounds anxious to leave, good. Maybe I should go stand there, make him more uncomfortable. Maybe even get a nice, healthy amount of sarcastic taunts in before he goes. Civility is one thing. No sarcasm when Potter is around would be asking for a bloody miracle.

"Uh, sure. Who's going to be there? What's it about?"

Slowly, make sure your pants are securely fastened, really don't feel like having THAT conversation with Potter. Ok, dignity and intimidation, even though it never worked on the stupid brat. Not the point. Dignity. Ah yes, he's seen you now. He's acknowledging your existence, a nod. Very well, return the gesture. It's only polite. No, forget the nod, that's just unnatural. Scowl, yes, much better.

"Good evening, Professor."

"Potter. What is this meeting about?"

"No idea, all I know is that Remus, Minerva, Albus, Ron" bloody Weasley "and Tonks will be there and you two have to be there too."

"A thousand insincere apologies, Mr Potter, but we are unable-"

"We'll be there."

Oh holy fuck. I don't want to go to the fucking meeting. I don't want to talk to all those horrific people. I want to stay here and not talk to Hermione.

"Good to hear. Everyone will be so pleased."

"No need to get snippy, Harry."

"Never. Now, I will let you get back to whatever it was you were doing, and hope to never have to hear of the particulars. Also, while I'm here, I just thought I should point out that while the two of you may have found the joys of marital life, you both seem to be unable to understand the joys of a silencing charm…I'll see you guys later."

Ah, she is closing the door. Definitely a good thing. Bloody Potter. Finally, time to actually complete my not very well planned seduction.

"We still need to talk, Severus."

She does not turn to face me as she says this, but I notice a subtle tensing of her body, followed by a not-so-subtle tensing of mine. My mind is busy screaming instructions about a reaction consisting of a contradictory mix of indifference and caring deeply for what she needs to say. I know she doesn't expect me to feign interest, but perhaps I could try it if she wants to leave me. Perhaps I could get her to stay. Fine, I'll call that plan B. Plan A is still the seduction. No, wait, seductions take too long. Fuck the fucking seduction and just fucking do something!

I spin her around and throw her over my shoulder, ignoring her protests.

"I assure you, Hermione, there will be an abundance of time to talk later."

I walk quickly towards the bedroom so as not to give her any time to formulate a response. I kick the door open (marvelling at my masculinity in the process) and toss her (gently) onto the bed.

"Much better."

I smirk in as predatory a way as possible and kick the door shut behind me.

* * *

A shortish time later...

* * *

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"A couple of things we need to talk about," she speaks the words softly and completely ruins my post-orgasmic state of denial. A cold feeling of dread settles somewhere in my stomach.

"Oh?"

"First, if you ever try and make me have this little 'you're going to leave me' argument of yours again I swear your balls will not survive the experience. I am not planning on leaving you so stop. Assuming. That. I. Am."

"Understood," I reply somewhat nervously.

"Second, despite your elaborate and very satisfying diversion, we still need to talk."

Damn, it didn't work then.

"Look, there is absolutely no easy way to say this."

Here it comes. I bet she's gonna say-

"I'm pregnant."

Huh. Now that I was not expecting. She can't be serious. I ease out of her body and turn her to face me, disbelief clearly written on my face. She looks a little nervous.

"Uh, surprise?" she offers weakly.

I open and close my mouth a few times and try to form words. Great. Just fucking perfect. I sincerely hope that my child is more articulate than I appear to be. Wait, my child. MY child.

Oh holy fuck.

* * *

AN: see, it wasn't that bad, was it? so, once again, sorry if you've got something against lemons (and for the duhworthy nature of the ending) but it's just a one time thing, and well, you were warned. So, PLEASE review. I'd really appreciate it. 


	7. You've got to be fucking joking

AN: ok, for those of you who skipped the last chapter basically Hermione is pregnant. That is pretty much all you need from the last chapter, so, this is just an interlude-y type chapter that I wrote because I couldn't come out with anything better. I think I'll start winding down the story soon, but I have at least one more chapter written following this one. So, please let me know what you think.

AN2: in case you can't tell from the title, there is swearing in this chapter, my apologies if that offends.

* * *

"You've got to be fucking joking!"

My voice echoes through the silence of the room, earning me a surprised look from my companion. This couldn't be happening, I cannot let this happen again. I've worked too hard and too long at this to let it go now. Besides, the mere thought that this could happen again is unbelievable, absolutely, fucking impossible. Rage burns through me, stomps through my body before it settles in my brain. My fingers move reflexively to my wand. After all, when in doubt, hex the nearest Gryffindor. If a hexing is impossible, usually the case when a student is involved, settle for a thorough threatening of a hex directed at the nearest Gryffindor. But always remember, if it is extremely inappropriate, neither hex nor threaten. It is very rarely appropriate to attempt to hex your boss, especially if said boss is Albus All-Fucking-Powerful Dumbledore. And a minor note to self, if you ever try to hex your very pregnant (and subsequently moody and occasionally irrational) Gryffindor wife, you must be fucking crazy. Hmph, based on these rules, I suppose it would rarely be deemed appropriate to hex the nearest Gryffindor. Then again, many Gryffindors believe that rules were made to be broken, and anyway, there's always Hufflepuffs. No, focus. Focus. Damn it, Snape! Focus! Do you or do you not remember that we have a fucking crisis to deal with? Honestly, mass murder is not the solution to everything…but don't rule it out just yet. Oh gods, I should have seen it coming, I really should have. Should have read the signs, prevented massacres, figuratively speaking, and this all would have ended differently. It was bad enough when it happened last time, I dismissed it as a one-off, having a bad day, a bad week, a bad decade, anything that meant that there was an excuse for such a fucking lapse in judgement! After the first time I naturally resolved to work harder and longer to ensure that it would not happen again. I would pay closer attention to detail, I would show them all that…oh bugger it, no time to dwell on the past. We have a fucking crisis to deal with.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know that this must be incredibly difficult for you, but I assure you it's true."

I look up in panic to the man that spoke. The reality of the situation begins settling in. He looks back calmly, his apology belied somewhat by the laughter in his eyes. I scowl deeply before shuttering my emotions, now is not the time to lose it. Ok, breathe, concentrate. It would certainly not do to lose control and beat the laughing son of a bitch to death with the most readily available blunt object. As much as I would probably enjoy it, it just would not do. Purely out of curiosity (as I have no intention of following up on my thoughts, no, none at all) I glance around the room, noticing that the most readily available blunt object is a desk. Huh, I could definitely work with that, possibly a bit awkward if I were to attempt to say swing it at his head, but still, undoubtedly effective. Not that I would…damn it, Snape! Just think a little before you give free rein to the slightly more criminal of your fantasies.

"There's got to be a way to fix this!"

I'm aware that my voice has taken on a slightly desperate tone, but, frankly, I'm a little too desperate to properly care about that. Now, ordinarily, I would despise even the slightest admission of desperation on my part, but this is not an ordinary situation. No, right now the situation is turning out to be a fucking crisis! Ok, breathe, just breathe. Just deal with it. Oh for fucks sake! I am well aware that there is little hope of recovery. This is definitely not good. Remember, control. Hide the pain, hide the pain. And if you fucking start to fucking cry…no, don't even think that, Severus Snape does not cry, nor does he sulk, nor does he fucking pout! As devastating as the current situation is, tears, sulking and pouting will do absolutely no good. Especially with the audience you have in attendance.

"There isn't."

"No, there has to be. There absolutely has to be! This can't be it!"

I look wildly around the room, searching for even the most abstract form of inspiration. Coming up empty I let my eyes fall on his face, glaring at what can only be described as the insolence I find there.

"Professor, I realise that this is very difficult for you, and I understand that you have probably never had to deal with something like this before, as such I'm sure it can be arranged with the Headmaster for counselling of some sort. However, you are going to have to accept that I am telling you the truth. Have a look around, I'm sure you'll notice that I am not lying."

"But-"

"No, buts, I am telling you the truth."

I glance back at his face, just in time to catch the smirk he is trying to smother with his hand. He's enjoying this. The bastard is bloody well enjoying this! This can't be happening. It simply cannot be happening. Oh, but I should have known. This morning I woke up tired and my day just went downhill from there. Once my eyes forced their way open, completely contrary to my brain's demand to keep them firmly closed, I rolled over expecting to have my typical morning greeting from Hermione. Today, nothing. She ignored my pointed stare and just kept right on sleeping. Granted, she could hardly see my pointed stare while her eyes remained shut, but still, it is a common courtesy to acknowledge one's husband when he is depressed and unwilling to be awake. If nothing else, she should have woken out of pure sympathy. My plight should really have registered to her sense of compassion. Disgruntled, I rolled out of bed and in the process, (accidentally) made a fair amount of noise, made a great show of stretching and moving around a good deal. My thought was, if she happened to wake up as a result of my movements, I could hardly be blamed. Honestly, it could hardly be classified as a fault on my part if she turned out to be such a light sleeper. But still she slept. Even when I (mistakenly) slammed the wardrobe door, she just frowned in her sleep and turned her head away, as she had long since lost the ability to comfortably turn over. Frowning slightly at my unexpected failures, I retreated to the bathroom to prepare for the torture to come.

On an ordinary day, Hermione wakes with me, prepares with me and then accompanies me to breakfast in the Great Hall. Today, however, none of the proper morning rituals were observed. When I returned to the bedroom more than half an hour later, having taken much longer in the bathroom than necessary, she was still asleep. I scowled slightly and began listing several perfectly logical reasons why she should in fact be getting up. Now, I understand well enough that her being close to six months pregnant she needs her rest and so on. However, thinking logically and completely objectively, the baby needs nourishment, therefore, Hermione needs nourishment. Hence, she should go to breakfast. Also, she needs to be there to encourage me to eat more food and drink less coffee, as apparently my diet isn't satisfactory. According to Hermione I need to eat more at breakfast so that I am not starving and (supposedly) bad tempered by lunch time. Honestly, the woman must be off her rocker. Being hungry doesn't put me in a foul temper, of course, it does nothing to make me feel any better but it's certainly not the defining factor in my unenthusiastic approach to my day. Instructing dozens of dunderheads in how to best destroy my classroom and effectively demolish their grades, dodging disasters and worrying about my wife going gallivanting while she should be at home bloody well resting puts me in a foul mood, not a lack of eggs, bacon and orange juice in the morning. Of course, we have already had this argument a dozen times over, always ending with me spending a night on the living room couch and Hermione ignoring me until she notices I'm not eating enough at breakfast. She refuses to simply sit at home and do nothing for nine months, waiting for an infant to make its presence felt. She will get up, get around as best she can and only ask for help when absolutely necessary. Even then, it is only after every other avenue has been thoroughly exhausted. I completely understand and I fully respect her for that. But I still don't like it. Also, by her reasoning, she really should have got up to go to breakfast with me this morning.

"Professor?"

I snap my attention back to the present and glare at the man for interrupting my thought processes. Obviously he doesn't realise the importance of my thought processes as he merely smirks in return. Normally, when I have such a fucking huge apparently unfixable crisis on my hands, I turn to Hermione. But no, Hermione is unavailable. Hermione is likely to be completely unavailable to me for a while yet. Oh, fuck it all, I'm going to go and fucking find Hermione. Honestly, I just want her back, it has nothing to do with diversionary tactics. I am not backing out of an impossible situation, no, not at all. I just want to find Hermione. Of course I gave her my blessings to leave when she did, I really didn't want her to go. She argued that it was completely logical, it had to be done. She reasoned that it was necessary to preserve whatever is left of our sanity. We had been arguing for days, I suppose it was inevitable. The offer was actually presented to Hermione a while back, she rejected it for my sake. But that's all over now. I suppose we argued about it one too many times, she took Poppy up on the offer. Damn it all, I don't want to know the fucking gender. Let it wait. Let it be a fucking surprise.

"Professor?"

I glare in irritation at my companion and bring my hands up to rub tired circles against my eyes. Pushing all thoughts of Hermione and her current activities from my mind, I turn my thoughts to the crisis at hand.

"There has to be a way to fix this," I repeat tiredly.

"Professor-"

"There has to be."

"Sir, my bishop's got your king. It's bloody well checkmate!"

"Thank you for the reminder, Potter, but I seem to recall hearing you the first three times you informed me."

"No problem, Professor. Always happy to keep you informed."

I sigh in resignation. I can't believe this, I'm losing in chess to Potter. Potter! Of all bloody people, he's supposed to be bloody lousy at this game! It's just not fucking fair. I can't believe I let this happen again! No, last time I was having a bad week, and this time I'm having a bad day. My mind wasn't on the game, I have more important things to worry about. Yes, that's it. I briefly reconsider beating the laughing son of a bitch to death with the most readily available blunt object, but dismiss it as irrational. Just use your fucking wand.

"Don't worry, Professor. I won't tell anyone about this time. They got enough of a kick out of it last time."

Smirking bastard.

"Besides, I know you probably have a lot on your mind right now. Have you heard from Hermione?"

Huh, insightful bastard.

"No."

Damn it, here come the thoughts of Hermione again. It is really for the best. She went because she had to. Yes, it should be known. It'll make things much easier. But I don't want to know! I want it to be a fucking surprise! Ok, breathe. Just breathe. Look at the minimal bright side of obtaining such knowledge, at least we'll be able to narrow down our arguments to a single gender in the future. It has to be either one or the other. I remember our last argument on the subject. Neither of us will admit to having a preference, in fear of the final outcome. I honestly don't mind, either way, as long as they don't follow the path I chose, and as long as they are not sorted into Hufflepuff. Slytherin; where they bloody well should be, Ravenclaw; fair enough, Gryffindor; absolutely last resort. Hufflepuff? No, no child of mine will end up in fucking Hufflepuff! Nothing personal, of course. But no Snape (or Granger, for that matter) can belong in Hufflefuckingpuff. I do know, however, that I want a name that means something, and certainly nothing that can easily be turned into a horrible nickname. Let's say, for example, just picking one at random, how Severus was so easily transformed to Snivellus. No, no names with subsequently horribly restricting nicknames. For example, just picking completely at random, how Severus can so very easily be turned into Snivellus.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

I whip around to find a slightly worried looking Hermione standing in the doorway. Her eyes meet mine but she looks away quickly.

"Uh, I thought he could use some company."

Well, I suppose that was decent of him. Doesn't mean I like him, no, not at all. Arrogant, smirking bastard.

"Oh. That's nice."

"Yeah, the professor and I played chess. He thrashed me as usual."

He says this lightly, as if it was totally expected, shooting a meaningful look in my direction.

"Really?"

"Really."

Huh, maybe he's not so completely and utterly horrific after all. I still don't like him. No, not at all. Arrogant, smirking, insightful, almost tactful bastard.

"Well, I'm glad you two were able to share a competition without bloodshed or abused furniture."

"Naturally. Uh, so, do you want me to vacate swiftly and silently? Give you guys time to, er, discuss, whatever happens to, er, be on your minds?"

Ever the blatantly obvious Gryffindor. Typical.

"Uh, no. You should stay."

Harry- uh, I mean, Potter. Yes, Potter raises his eyebrows slightly but only nods, resuming his seat at the chessboard, gathering his celebrating chess pieces and trying to keep them from my slightly belligerent looking set. This cannot be good. Hermione asking for witnesses to our chat? Never a good thing.

"Severus, I found out, well you know-"

"The gender?"

"Uh, right. About that, it seems there has been a bit of a mistake. You see, it was originally thought that we would be only having one-"

"Oh gods! You're having twins!"

Bloody Potter! I do not need his disruptive influence right now. I need to think. Hermione smiles slightly but it looks like it takes a great deal of effort. Both sets of chess pieces start cheering, with mine managing catcalls, whistles and suggestive poses. Hermione glances at them briefly, seemingly amused, but she won't meet my eye, so how the fuck should I know?

"Not exactly. More like twins with an extra one. You know like buy two get the third one for free?"

She laughs weakly, suddenly intent on studying the pattern on the carpet. Ah, inappropriate humour. Another Gryffindor trait. Wait, does that mean…

"Huh?"

Oh, Severus. Ever the articulate one weren't you?

"Well, you know. Ok, just gonna say it. Triplets. We're having three bloody babies."

"Whoa," Potter says quietly. At least I am not the only one incapable of understanding this.

"Huh?"

"Triplets, Professor. You and Hermione are going to have triplets. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione snaps.

Oh gods. Breathe. Just breathe. It's all going to be fine. How is this even possible? Three children? All at once? I look around the room and realise that everyone seems to be waiting for an answer. Ok, focus. Make sure you say the exact right thing, don't let Hermione think you're not happy. Exercise all your abilities in articulation and finesse. Dignity, respect. Refinement. Cool, calm and collected. Do not over react. Apparently you have a tendency to do that at times. Yes. Good. Go on then.

"You've got to be fucking joking!"

Huh, that went well.

* * *

AN: I realise that triplets might be a bit much but I just wanted something where he could freak out accordingly, plus I couldn't decide on names. Btw, open to suggestions for names. Please review. 


	8. Bloody Gryffindors

AN: ok, now that I can stop worrying about my major essay for the semester (I somehow managed a distinction) I can focus more on more important things. Now, some might hold the misconception that these more important things would somehow involve my incredibly inconvenient exams that are coming up soon, and while I acknowledge their existence, I am choosing to focus on things that I actually enjoy for a few more days before I start the ritualistic 'I-am-so-stressed-how-will-I-ever-survive-this-torturous-excuse-for-an-education-I-wonder-if-it's-too-late-to-drop-out' phase, before progressing to the ever popular 'fuck-it-all-who-needs-a-fucking-higher-education-anyway' phase, and eventually maturing to the 'grim-resignation-and-eventual-acceptance-of-responsibility-and-just-doing-the-damn-work' phase. Rough translation, I don't know how long it will be between updates. Now, thank you to the people who reviewed, sorry about the wait. There is swearing in this chapter (there's swearing in the authors notes, what did you expect?) so once again, sorry if that offends. Let me know what you think.

* * *

Bloody Gryffindors! Bloody fucking Gryffindors! Every single one of them should be magically bound and gagged. Yes, all of them should be either locked up in ridiculously small cages or chained to a wall. Outside. In the snow, or the rain, I'm not terribly picky. I suppose, however, that it would be somewhat acceptable to chain some of them to places other than a wall outside. Some could be chained inside. And some, through completely random selection of course, could be chained to other places. Say, for example, to a bed. After all, I'm not cruel. I know that it would be far more productive to chain those who are weak, sick or extremely pregnant with my children to somewhere more comfortable than a wall, like a bed. But this does not mean that I am going to start thinking of all the possibilities that a magically bound Hermione could present. No. I won't. I'm almost positive that thinking such thoughts is bound to be counter productive. Ok, breathe. Just breathe…Professor, you are not breathing. Ok, fine, don't breathe. Do whatever you bloody well want. Just as long as you don't think of Hermione bound to your bed, completely unclothed, covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, writhing and moaning, begging you to…damn it, Snape! Focus!

Right, well. Uh…um. Bloody Gryffindors. Yes, that's it. Bloody fucking Gryffindors! Waste of fucking space Gryffindors. I fail to understand why they insist on this fruitless continuation on what they dare to deem an education. It simply wastes their time, and more importantly, my time. Twits. Perfect, now they're looking at me. Again. Damn, what the fuck are they waiting for? I know for a fact that they should have something else with which to occupy their prepubescent minds. Honestly, don't they have anything better to stare at? Surely they aren't attracted to my ruggedly handsome features or my boyish good looks. Try not to sneer too obviously at that thought.

Bloody fucking Gryffindors! Maybe I should just hand out some satisfyingly disgusting detentions and be done with it. Or perhaps I could just content myself with deducting as many Gryffindor points (along with some from Hufflepuff, come now, we must be fair in our unfairness, no need to exclude the Hufflepuffs) as is humanly possible. Wait, humanly possible? And may I ask just how long you have been concerning yourself with the restrictions of humanity in the deduction of house points? Particularly from Gryffindor? That is hardly the point. Go on then, ignore the fact that you've only been in the class for five minutes and find excuses to deduct some points. Surely it won't be difficult, the fact that they are an unhealthy mix of idiotic Gryffindors and overly eager Hufflepuffs who make a valiant attempt at destroying your classroom at least once a week very nearly constitutes a reason. Right, get to it. Go on, staring at them will not produce detentions. Nor will it result in a deduction of points. Come on, take the initiative. It's a quite commonly known fact that glaring at students is often followed by insults, tears and recriminations. All in quick succession.

"What are you all waiting for?"

Good. Menacing. Direct and to the point, just what I like to hear. Of course, it would have been better if you managed to have even a minor affect on them. They're still staring, now with their mouths wide open. Young bloody kids these bloody days. They have absolutely no respect for my authority. Do they think that all the menace and intimidation I exude during lessons is the product of boredom? A sadistic desire to see them squirm? Not at all. It is all purely for their own good. I find absolutely no enjoyment in bellowing (or hissing) at students for minor misdemeanours, deducting points holds very little pleasure for me and I certainly don't relish making small children cry. It is all for their own good.

Yeah. Right.

"Uh, Sir?"

Ah, yes. One of the braver (or more idiotic) female Hufflepuffs. I wonder what she has to say, she looks a little anxious. Good.

"What?"

Again with the menacing tone. Very good.

"You haven't given us any instructions."

Oh, shit. You were too fucking busy with your damn dramatic entrance and your bloody billowing robes that you forgot to bloody tell them what to fucking do. And don't even get me started on how your less than appropriate Hermione fantasies has affected your teaching. Ok, don't panic. Just scowl until the little chit backs off and think of a way to get out of this, preferably without looking like an incompetent fool.

"I was under the impression that at least one of you would remember that you were to write an essay discussing the properties and uses of the potion you were completing last lesson."

Impressive.

"But, Sir, we did that for homework. Don't you remember?"

This girl mustn't value her life very much. Though she does have a point. Dammit. Buy yourself some more time, narrow your eyes and scowl.

"Thank you, Miss Grant. I am well aware of what I set you for homework, however, I was of course referring to the fact that you were to complete this essay under test conditions. But, if you and your classmates would prefer to make a potion then you may begin, instructions are on the board. Miss Grant, if you have no further views on the subject then I suggest you begin. Oh, of course, ten points should be taken from Hufflepuff for your insolence. No talking, begin."

Nice recovery. And you managed to deduct points, very impressive. Though you could have been a little more menacing, oh well, next time. Now, all you need to do is keep your mind focussed. Don't think about Hermione and you'll make it through the class. Right. Yes. Good. Now, sit down and look busy, important and unapproachable. Take away points for that projectile incident, shuffle parchments, ignore that tapping, glare at the girl in the front, whisper some instructions, ignore that tapping, bellow at the Gryffindors, hide your satisfaction at being able to bellow at the Gryffindors, ignore that tapping, glare at the flying fluxwood, take some more points, ignore that tapping. No, I said ignore that tapping. Damn it, Snape! Stay focussed, remain completely still, ignore that…bloody hell! What is that blasted tapping?

"Uh, Sir?"

Yes, it is official. That girl definitely has a death wish.

"What now, Miss Grant?"

"I think that owl wants to come in."

I follow the direction of her pointing finger and see a rather dishevelled looking owl tapping furiously at the window. Strange, it looks remarkably like Potter's owl. No, it simply cannot be Potter's. There is only one possible reason he would ever write to me, and that would be to give me news of…oh holy fuck. Hermione. Suddenly overtaken by insane urge to charge across the room, students and other more immobile obstacles be damned. Breathe. Just breathe. You do realise that you are staring in horror at a bird, don't you?

"The ever observant one aren't you Miss Grant? Back to work, all of you. No talking."

Cool, calm collected. Do not run, just casually stomp over there and let the damn bird in. Good, now, carefully take the parchment and…damn that hurt, yes, definitely Potter's bird. Typical, bloody typical, he trains it to attack me. Focus! Right, so casually unroll it, control your facial expressions, and kindly remember to breathe.

_Professor,_

_We've taken Hermione to St Mungo's. She wants you to come as quickly as possible, she would also like me to remind you that it is in fact your fault that she is in this uncomfortable position and if you don't come to meet her, balls will be hexed. More specifically, yours. On another note, we would both like to remind you not to freak out. She will be fine, and we can only assume that the babies will come out relatively unharmed. If not, there's always therapy. Please hurry, Hermione is getting restless (and a little violent), so meet us at St Mungo's. Oh, and did you ever notice that Hermione is a little scary when she's in pain? I think she broke my arm._

_Harry_

"You've got to be fucking joking!"

My voice rings out a lot louder than I intended and there is a collective intake of breath from the students. I glance up sharply at the sound and aim a glare at no one in particular. Returning my interest to the parchment in my hand, I read over it one more time. I can't believe I said that out loud. All those years of building up a reputation that was not to be trifled with. Now, five minutes into lunch every single student and all the damn staff will have heard of my little lapse of concentration. Damn it, Snape! Why do you always have to lose your damn mind in front of a pack of Gryffindor students? Ok, breathe. Just breathe. It would do absolutely no good to panic right now. No, you must keep your wits about you. Chances are you're already in for a 'now my boy we must be a little more prudent whilst in the company of students, mustn't we' lecture from Albus, and more than likely a rant from Minerva about corrupting her precious Gryffindors. No, now is definitely not the time to lose your mind. Especially because once I lose my mind it will be quickly followed by a panic attack, an embarrassingly public breakdown then a very inconvenient bout of institutionalisation. No, that would not do at all.

Hey, genius, as much as I loathe to point out the glaringly obvious, I feel I really must remind you that you've been staring at a piece of parchment for the last five minutes. May I also remind you that your reputation is already in quite a critical condition, now, being labelled as someone who is fearful of parchment, would hardly revive it. Oh gods, must find Hermione. Dismiss the dunderheads, send word to Albus and get gone. Ok, go on. Do it. Stop staring at the damn parchment and do something constructive. Or just stand there with your mouth open, that's good too.

"Uh, Sir?"

Damn that girl and her fucking persistence. With a long suffering sigh, I turn my head towards the ever annoying Miss Grant.

"Yes, Miss Grant?"

"Are you ok?"

Merlin, this girl is a nosy little so and so.

"I don't think that that is any concern of yours Miss Grant. Ten points from Hufflepuff. Back to work"

Oh gods, I need to focus. Ignore the class and think. Harry bloody Potter, who does he think he is? Urging me not to, how did he put it? He urges me not to freak out? Is he trying to imply that I overreact to situations such as this? Bloody cheek! Bloody Potter! What would he know? A terminal bachelor with dung for brains is hardly qualified to give me marital advice. And just what is he doing with Hermione anyway? He has no business there. I knew there was something amiss as soon as I saw his bloody owl. After all, an owl coming from Potter can never be a good thing. And just what does he mean the children will come out relatively unharmed? No child of mine will undertake any form of therapy. No, they will wallow in their misery and find an entirely inappropriate and ridiculously dangerous outlet for their pain and frustration. Like joining a psychotic sadomasochistic semi-exclusive cult hell bent on exterminating a large portion of the population, just like their fucking father. Oh yes, they will be causing destruction and mayhem, but with a song in their hearts and a post card for their mother.

Bloody hell! I'm not ready for this. Three bloody babies! I can't handle this, I definitely can't handle this. Ok, breathe. Just breathe. You have to get going, Potter's note said that Hermione would be at St Mungo's. Gods, how I hate that place. Ok, focus. You need to walk calmly out of the room after you dismiss the students, walk calmly to Albus' office and explain the situation, walk calmly to the apparition point and Apparate to St Mungo's. Then quickly (but calmly) locate Hermione, and go from there. Ok, you got that? Bugger that, just run. Forget the class, forget Albus, just fucking run.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Professor. We were wondering when you were gonna show."

Bloody Potter, how can he be so damn cheerful when Hermione's in pain? Oh gods, Hermione, in pain. Because of me. All my fault, she'll hate me. Ok, breathe. Just breathe.

"Bloody hell! What'd you do? Run all the way from Hogwarts?"

Bloody Weasley! What would he know? Is it my fault that the staff at St Mungo's can't handle pressure? Honestly, they were acting as if I were threatening with an Unforgivable for fucks sake. I only said I'd hex them all if they didn't tell me where Hermione was. They're the ones who overreacted, the whole situation was blown completely out of proportion. And it was all their fault.

"Good afternoon, Severus. How are you?"

Bloody Lupin, what the fuck is he doing here anyway? He certainly has no business here. And what does he mean how am I? What kind of fucking question is that?

"Hermione. Where is Hermione?"

An uneasy glance is traded between the three of them.

"Uh, Professor, there's something we should really tell you. Well, you know that Hermione's not actually due for a few more weeks, we weren't expecting to be here."

"Get to the point, Potter. What is wrong with my wife?"

Ah yes, and here comes the ever amusing panic attack.

"Nothing, well sort of nothing."

Oh. Holy. Fuck.

"Sort of nothing? And what exactly do you mean by that, Mr Weasley?"

"Severus, why don't you sit down and we'll explain."

Is that supposed to be an understanding tone? Bloody Lupin.

"I don't want to sit. But if you don't tell me what the hell is going on then I will tear this building apart if it is necessary to find Hermione myself!"

"Calm down, this is a hospital, there is no need to get that way. We just want to tell you that there have been some slight complications, and Hermione has to have the babies the Muggle way."

"What's the Muggle way?"

"Severus, I strongly suggest you take a seat. You aren't going to like this."

"Lupin."

"Amazing. When did you learn to growl like that, Professor?"

Bloody Potter, thinks he's so fucking funny.

"Very well, you insist on behaving that way, I'm not going to stop you."

Damn right you're not going to stop me. Oh, brilliant Snape, I'm sure he's once again incredibly intimidated by your threatening inner dialogue. Imbecile.

"Severus, are you listening? Now, as you know, ordinarily they just perform a simple Birthing Spell when it's time, but there have been some complications in Hermione's case."

Ah, and here comes the embarrassingly public breakdown.

"What do you mean, complications?"

"Well, to be perfectly blunt, it would have been impossible to perform the Birthing Spell without potentially causing harm to either the babies or Hermione, so she's had to, er, do it manually, so to speak."

"Manually?"

Oh dear, my voice has gone all high pitched and squeaky, it hasn't done that in years. This is so embarrassing.

"Yes, well, she's had to, er, push them out. You know, the Muggle way."

"What? But, they won't fit."

"Honestly, Professor! Don't be so dense, of course they will. The mediwitch will just have to make a little more room for them if necessary."

Make room? Is that even fucking possible?

"Make room?"

"Do you know anything about Muggle birthing procedures?"

"Potter, I have never had a need to know them."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you. I don't think you necessarily need to know."

"They're going to cut her open."

"RON!"

"Well, they are."

"C-cut open?"

Oh holy fuck. I definitely cannot handle this. Why are they going to cut her open? What kind of incompetents have they got working here that they can't perform a simple Birthing Spell? Oh gods, I can't breathe. I need to sit.

"No, not exactly. They'll only cut her open if necessary, she'll probably tear on her own."

They're going to cut her open if she doesn't tear on her own? What kind of barbarian medicinal atrocities do these fucking Muggles put into practice?

"T-tear?"

"Boys, that's enough. He still hasn't heard the other news. You know, the biggy."

"Oh, right. Well, guess what," bloody Weasley, his face is positively alight with fucking glee, "you are actually having four babies."

"What?"

Oh yes, voice is definitely too high for comfort now. I'll never live this down.

"Four children."

Oh gods, Hermione and I had enough trouble agreeing on names for the first three! I can't deal with that particular discussion with anyone anytime soon.

"It's not possible."

"Is too, and one of them is a Malfoy."

Oh.

"Yes, and another is a Weasley."

Holy.

"The third is actually Sirius' child"

Fuck.

"Yes, Severus, only one of them is yours."

"And that one is destined to be in Hufflepuff."

"The other three belong in Gryffindor."

"It's not fucking possible!"

Ah yes, there is definite panic in my voice now. Well, at least they're finding it funny. They look like they're ready to start rolling around on the floor just to prove how funny my pain is. Bastards.

"Haven't you ever noticed that when magic is involved, anything is possible?"

"This isn't funny."

"Oh, but Professor, it is. You see, the look on your face would be enough to make anyone start laughing their arse off."

"Wait, that wasn't true?"

"Are you mad? You actually believed us?"

Fucking bastards.

"Honestly Professor, that wouldn't have fooled anyone. You must be i really /i stressed."

Fuck you.

"Well I suppose it's sort of understandable, you've never really been able to think straight where Hermione's concerned. Losing your touch in your old age?"

Fuck you too.

"But, in all honesty, Severus, I feel we must apologise, we didn't have much time to come up with anything convincing, we really had to go with what first came to mind. I'm surprised you believed us for so long."

"I didn't believe it."

"Oh, you didn't?"

"Not for a second. It was all absolutely ludicrous, no chance in hell I believed you. Wouldn't deceive a child."

"Coulda fooled me."

Bloody Weasley.

"Kindly refrain from joking about my wife's medical situation or about her fidelity or I will personally hex you until you aren't even remotely recognisable as-"

"Severus, relax. None of what we just told you is true so there is absolutely no need for violence." wanna bet? "And as you didn't believe us for a second anyway, your threats really are unnecessary. But thank you for humouring us for so long." bloody Lupin "Anyway, the Birthing Spell was performed successfully more than an hour ago. Your wife, with incredible presence of mind, told us to try and let you deal with some of your, er, issues, before you went in there and started ranting."

I don't have issues. They're the ones with bloody issues…damn it, Snape! Focus.

"Birthing…successful?"

Oh gods, breathe. Just breathe.

"Yes, Professor. Three healthy babies, two girls and a boy."

"Hermione?"

"Is fine, a little tired, a little overwhelmed. She wants to see you as soon as you feel up to it."

I'm going to meet my children. Well, I don't suppose they would count it as a meeting, especially as they are only an hour old. Damn it, Snape! Focus! Wait, they've been around for more than an hour and I still haven't seen them? What the fuck is going on? Hermione sent these imbeciles to distract me because she thought I would overreact? What is with everyone? I act completely rationally at all times. I never overreact.

Yeah. Right.

"Is something wrong, Professor?"

"I wasn't afraid."

"Of course not."

"Didn't think it for a minute."

"Severus Snape is never afraid, right?"

Bloody Gryffindors.

* * *

AN: ok, a few notes, I have no idea about wizarding birthing methods, I used this so I could have him freak out just that little bit more. Again, sorry for the delay, and PLEASE review. 


	9. Reality

AN: it's been awhile. I really don't have a lot to say about my absence apart from the fact that I am very sorry and I hope it won't happen again. If there are still people out there reading this, I appreciate it and I hope this new chapter is acceptable. I'd also really appreciate any and all feedback, as I haven't written anything remotely noteworthy in so long, it's almost like I've forgotten how to do it. So, **please **let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: own nothing, just taking them out for a spin

--

Reality is really a rather horrible thing. Truly torturous even. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much of my time I spend trying to find a way around it, reality always has a way of turning around and biting me in the--

"Severus!"

Foot. Yes, reality has a way of turning around and biting me in the foot. This is because my reality is a wife named Hermione and the three children she brought into this world to drive me insane. Okay, there may be a slight possibility that Hermione did not give birth to triplets with the specific intention of driving me insane, but the little brats are making my life hell.

"Severus! What on earth are you doing?"

Don't answer that.

"Severus?"

"At the risk of sounding inappropriately feminine, I just broke a nail."

"What?"

Is there any possibility that I will emerge from this with even a shred of dignity?

"I broke a nail."

"So you started screaming obscenities? While our children are asleep in the next room."

Judging by the look on her face, Hermione is not appreciative of my choice of words in my current predicament.

"It hurt."

"Honestly, Severus! You have been in slightly more pain than a broken nail."

"As much as I enjoy talking of the numerous and varied pains of my existence, do you have a point?"

"Fine. How did you break a nail?"

"I was looking for a stack of parchment that I need to look over. However, I was having difficulty in locating anything in the complete mess that was once my clean and tidy, not to mention orderly office." I glance pointedly around the room and raise my eyebrows. "Since this was once my office, and therefore my _personal _working space, I was not expecting to find anything remotely related to the children in this room. While sifting through some of these things, I closed the drawer to the desk and--"

"And you broke a nail."

"That's right."

"And not only did you somehow manage to break a nail while closing a desk drawer, you are trying to lay the blame with your children. I see."

"You are making it sound worse than it is."

"No, Severus, you are making it sound worse than it is. I have never once heard you scream like that. Now, I know you have a flair for dramatics-"

"Excuse me, I happen to have had a very stressful day."

"Stressful? I thought you spent the day with the children."

"I did. The traitorous beasts were conspiring against me."

"Severus, they're barely--"

"I know how old they are, Hermione."

"Really? Then it shouldn't be beyond your capabilities to realise that they do not yet have the mental capacity to conspire against anyone… Did you refer to our children as beasts?"

"I-"

"You referred to our _children_ as _beasts_!"

"Well-"

"Severus! These are our children! You never refer to them as beasts!"

"What would you have me do instead, Hermione? It's not likely that I will ever refer to them as bloody angels!"

"I don't expect you to refer to them as angels, Severus. I don't want you to become a doting parent incapable of discipline. I don't want you to spoil our children with indulgence-"

The likelihood of that happening is about equal to that of seeing Voldemort rise again to do a quick can-can with Mad-Eye Moody.

"I do, however, expect you to show a touch more restraint with the language you use around our children! It's bad enough the way you treat other people's children-"

"This has absolutely _nothing _to do with my teaching methods, Hermione. This is about you and it's about me. Nothing else!"

"No! This is to do with our children. Our children and the way you act around them!"

Oh dear, whenever Hermione gets shrill like this…damn it, Snape! Focus! Answer her! Now is not the time to back down! Now is not the time for lengthy pauses for contemplation!

"The way I act around them?"

"Yes, the way you act around them. Would it be so very hard for you to call your children by their names? You do remember their names, don't you?"

"No, actually I've forgotten all about the hours worth of fights we endured over what we were to call the precious little shits! You know what I do remember, Hermione? You saying yourself that the little _angels _were incapable of conspiring against me, what makes you so very sure that they understand the difference between being called beasts or angels?"

Or the other myriad of names I have for them when Hermione is safely out of hearing range and, consequently, I am safely out of firing range.

"You are comparing their ability to conspire against you with your persistent verbal abuse?"

Verbal abuse? I always saw it as an almost overwhelming downpour of affection on my part. Oh holy fuck, she's staring at me. She must expect a response. Quick, Snape! Time for something cutting!

"Er-"

Oh, you slash her with your words.

"Severus." She is obviously making an effort to calm down, I suppose I should be grateful she isn't yelling anymore. "There is something I need you to do, I want you to stop calling the children beasts. If you can think of nothing more appropriate to call them in the way of endearments then simply call them by their names. Can you do that?"

I cannot believe it! She is trying to use guilt on me! And she's trying to make me feel like a moronic two year old incapable of rational thought. This is simply unacceptable.

"Would these have to be pre-approved endearments? Should I have you check them for their suitability first?"

"Severus, be serious. Can you do that?"

"Well, that depends. Can you?"

"Can I what?"

"Can you restrict yourself to calling the children appropriate endearments?"

"_I _call the children by their names."

"Really? Always? You don't occasionally call them something that is less than appropriate?"

"What?"

"They've never pushed you to express your frustration verbally?"

"Severus--"

"You've never felt the need to call them _a trio of_ _unearthly creatures from hell_?"

I shouldn't enjoy that look on her face so much. I really shouldn't.

"How did you-"

"How did I know that you thought that about our trio of angelic beasts? I heard you say it, with quite a bit of feeling the last time Potter was here. And may I say, not your best work, Hermione. I always depend upon your creativity and, though I'd be able to overlook the lack of originality in your assessment of our children, I cannot abide the logic."

"The logic?"

I find her confusion disturbingly endearing. Damn it, Snape! Focus!

"Yes, the logic. One would assume that creatures from hell would not meet the requirements of being 'earthly', at least not in the strictest sense, Hermione."

"Severus, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Double standards in the home, Hermione. Not very generous of you."

"I-"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry." Her voice has gone very soft and there was a suspicious wobble in her words… Wobble in her words? Merlin, I need sleep.

"Not to worry. I'm sure you didn't mean it."

She falls silent and looks at the carpet. Strange, Hermione never found this carpet particularly interesting before. I cast about desperately for something to say. Damn it, Snape! Think!

Now, I have become accustomed to awkward silences over the years, my mere presence usually causing a significant decline in conversation, but I find that the silences Hermione and I have been sharing of late have been fairly uncomfortable. Silence from her is not always as good a thing as one would expect. Silence gives her time to think, regroup and find flaws in my argument that can't possibly be there. I know that I must move fast to press my admittedly small advantage, and steer her away from the subject of our children.

"Er-" She looks at me hopefully, perhaps wanting a change of subject as much as I do. "I think this room needs cleaning."

Brilliant, Snape. That's sure to get her mind off the children, calling to her attention for the second time in ten minutes just how much mess they leave about the place.

"Go on then."

"Do you suppose--"

"Yes, I'll help."

She's staring at me in a way that can only mean trouble. Maybe she's waiting for me to move so she can hex me? Merlin, I hope not. Hermione can be downright nasty when she's angry.

"You were eavesdropping on me?"

What?

"Pardon?"

"You were _eavesdropping_ on me?"

"No, I wasn't _eavesdropping_ on you. _You_ were speaking loudly. Too loudly, especially considering our _children_ were sleeping not far away."

"I--"

"Had a bad day?"

"Yes." The look of guilt on her face disappears quickly as she slowly narrows her eyes. "I seem to be having a lot of those lately, and you are definitely not helping!"

"I'm not helping? What about you?"

"What about me? Severus, I don't have a job anymore, I gave it up to take care of our children."

"And that is supposed to make it all better? The fact that you don't have to work every day?"

"Don't have to work? You think it's _easy _to take care of three mewling infants?"

"Mewling infants? Caterwauling beasts, more like."

"DO NOT CALL OUR CHILDREN BEASTS!"

A high pitched noise, not unlike those made while a cat is being slowly tortured, sounds through the room.

"Now look what you've done!"

"What I've done? Hermione, I was not the one screaming."

"If you hadn't called our children BEASTS I wouldn't have been screaming!"

They are beasts. Noisy bloody beasts.

"I wasn't screaming anyway."

Is there no way to shut them up?

"Aren't you even going to offer to help?"

Voluntarily move closer to that racket?

"Severus?"

Merlin, certainly only dogs should be able to hear _this _level of noise.

"Are you just going to stand there or are. You. Going. To. Help?"

I look at Hermione, noticing she has gone slightly red in the face. I hope she doesn't pull out her wand, not only can she be downright nasty when she's angry, she can be pretty bloody creative with her hexes.

"Severus! Answer me!"

Her hand moves to her hips and I glance frantically around for a way to escape. I can't take this. The noise, the mess, Hermione's mood swings, the noise. It also doesn't help just how attractive Hermione can be when she's all… Damn it, Snape! Focus! How can I fucking focus with all that fucking noise?

"Fine! I'll do it all myself. There's something new and different for me!"

I really do wish she wouldn't yell like that. She stomps away, certainly she is too old to be stomping anymore, and opens the door to the children's nursery. I really do hate the fact that I am forced to call a section of my chambers a blasted _nursery_. I especially hate the nursery when the door is open and the level of noise increases the way it just did.

"_SILENCIO!_"

My wand is out and the spell cast before I can properly think through my actions. I glance at my outstretched arm in something akin to horror. I quickly drop my arm and slip my wand back into my robes. Hermione stalks back into the room. On closer inspection, a stomping Hermione is much more desirous than a stalking Hermione.

"What did you do?"

Don't answer that.

"Severus."

Oh holy fuck.

"Did you or did you not just use _magic_ on the children?"

"I--"

"You used _magic_ on the CHILDREN!"

I wonder if she'd believe me if I said it wasn't me.

"Severus?"

A disobedient house elf, perhaps.

"I--"

Hermione looks at me angrily for a moment, before abruptly turning away and sighing. She brings her hand up to her face and sighs again. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or reaching for my wand.

"Severus." Her voice sounds incredibly tired and when she turns back to face me, I blink is stupidly at the look in her eyes. I know that look. I've caused that look before.

"Hermione, I--"

"Don't. Just don't. I don't need to hear it. Severus, please do not use magic on the children. It really can't be good for their development."

"Their development? That's what this is about?" I grow unaccountably angry at her casual dismissal of the situation. "Their fucking development?"

"Language, Severus," Hermione says icily.

"Language? You want me to fucking watch my fucking language, Hermione?" She opens her mouth, no doubt to yell something inappropriate at me again. Typical. I move to cut her off. "You know what I think the _real_ problem is? Magic isn't good for their development? Having them making so much noise at all hours of the day and the god awful nights can hardly be good for our sanity!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. This isn't about that."

"Of course not. Raising children has absolutely nothing to do with sanity."

"Severus."

Oh dear, that tone of voice is never ever good. Unless of course it is at a time when neither of us are quite so formally attired. The times when Hermione would…damn it, Snape! Focus!

"Oh, very well. Though that spell was hardly damaging to their precious little souls."

Here's hoping.

"That is hardly the point. Besides, how can you be entirely sure? Are you certain, and I mean absolutely certain, that this spell is not causing damage? Possibly severe damage? Even emotional damage?" Ah, here is the Hermione I'm used to. Inane prattle and endless questions. "Did you think of that, Severus? How often have you done this to them? Did you even stop to consider the possibilities? The consequences of what you're doing to our children?"

To be honest, I hadn't. I had thought only to silence the insufferable brats. And I must say, it worked tremendously well. In fact, with the way Hermione is carrying on, I would very much like to use it on her.

Somehow, I don't see that going over too well.

"Severus? Severus are you even listening to me?"

"Probably not."

Shit.

"What?"

Ah yes, another of my wishes coming true. I hope for a decrease in both pitch and volume, I get dangerous calm. Joy. At least that look has gone from her eyes.

"Severus, what did you say?"

Don't answer that.

"Severus?"

I mean it.

"Honestly, Severus! Answer me!"

"Nothing. I didn't say anything. And if, by some strange chance, I did happen to say something, it probably wasn't anything important. Certainly not worth remembering."

"No, I don't imagine anything you're saying right now would be important, but I imagine it _is_ worth remembering."

Damn she's good.

"The point is, the children are fine, and thankfully silent. We are both exhausted, sleep would be mutually beneficial. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't know where your mind has been wandering off to for the majority of our conversation, but agreeing with you right now is not exactly on my list of priorities. They are our _children_., Severus. It was very irresponsible of you to use magic on them."

"Ah yes, but that was just a once in a life time occurrence, wasn't it? Ordinarily, I am of course the epitome of all things responsible and a fine, respected citizen."

"This is hardly the time for jokes."

Who's joking?

"Severus…"

"No, I don't suppose it is."

"Severus, all I am asking you to do is refrain from using magic on the children. At least until they're a little older."

"I see. Yes, that's perfectly reasonable. By your logic, I can use magic on our children when they are a little older. Does this include all magic, or just simple charms?"

"No, but, er… Severus, the point is, it's not fair to the children for you to use magic on them, even if it was only a silencing charm. How would you feel if they cast a silencing charm on you?"

"I would be ecstatic, telling all and sundry about my extremely young, incapable of rational thought children's collective magical, not to mention wandless, abilities."

"Severus, they can't defend themselves! It's just wrong to use this kind of magic directly on the children!"

"Can I use it indirectly?"

"How exactly would you use a silencing charm on them indirectly?"

"I will find a way."

"No. Don't sulk, it's for your own good." Severus Snape does not sulk! "Now, I am going to go and calm the children down. Try not to yell anymore."

"I wasn't--"

"Just try." With that, Hermione turns around and walks through the open door of the nursery.

Fuck the nursery. I hate the fucking nursery. I look around the room again and my eyes land on my potions cabinet; the place I keep all my most dangerous potions and ingredients. Conveniently enough, it is also where I keep my emergency stash of Firewhisky. I walk quickly across the room and grab the bottle of Firewhisky and the large glass I always need to keep hidden from Hermione; she always said that this glass always encouraged me to drink more than I should. I never bothered to tell her that when I feel the need for hard liquor, there is no further encouragement required. She doesn't need to know that.

I fill the glass half way, stare dubiously at the bottle, then fill the glass to the top. Strange, I could have sworn that the last time I was driven to drink something more potent than tea, the bottle wasn't nearly so full. In fact, I distinctly remember stumbling around and cursing just how empty it appeared to be. In a completely reserved and incredibly dignified kind of way, of course.

Surely I wasn't that drunk… I never let it get so far that I can't remember the night's events through the haze of the morning hangover. I must of replaced it. Yes, or perhaps it was never as empty as I thought. I raise the glass to my lips.

I was pretty bloody drunk, after all.

Glancing around the room once more, I raise my glass in mock salute to the mess surrounding me, briefly lamenting that Hermione wasn't here to see my ironic genius. Bringing the glass once more to my lips I realise that it is probably best that Hermione doesn't see this. She would not be best pleased. I open my mouth and swirl the liquid around in my mouth for a moment, before promptly spitting it all across the room, thoroughly spraying my desk in the process. Gasping and coughing, I glare first at the glass in my hand, and then the mess I've made of my desk, noting with displeasure the parchment I was searching for earlier bore the brunt of my assault.

"What the f--"

"Language, Severus."

"Hermione! What the-- What did you-- How did--"

"Severus, calm down. Don't wake the children."

Believe me, I don't want the wretched little urchins to wake up either.

"Hermione," I say with admirable calm. "Would you care to explain why my Firewhisky tastes distinctly like week-old, room temperature tea?"

Though come to think of it, I've never actually tried week-old, room temperature tea.

"You mean the Firewhisky that you're not supposed to have, which I'm not supposed to know about?"

Is there a right answer to that question?

"I've been meaning to replace it."

"You've been what?"

"Well, a week ago I had a little, not much at all."

"If you had 'not much at all', why would you need to replace it?"

"Well, it was that day that Harry came over." Bloody Potter. "He surprised me, I dropped the bottle. So, I repaired the bottle and replaced the whiskey with tea. I just haven't had a chance to replace it."

"You? Drinking? Firewhisky?" I have to fight the foolish urge to laugh, contenting myself with a slightly disapproving glare instead.

"Yes," she replies dispassionately. "I'm sorry I didn't replace it. But you really shouldn't have it in the first place, and didn't I ask you to stop using that horrible cup?" Her tone is accusing, and I don't appreciate it at all.

"Yes, you did. I decided I didn't want to part with my cup. And you are hardly one to cast stones, my dear. Was it not you who recently confessed to secret drinking of your own?"

Must not be smug. Must not be smug. Must not be smug.

"You bastard."

What?

"Pardon me?"

"You dare say something like that to me? As if you are in any position to--"

"In any position to what, Hermione? I hate to tell you this, but occasionally my life can become somewhat stressful, and in lieu of any real physical exertion, I need to find relaxation where I can."

Sweet mother of--

"What did you say?"

What _did_ I say?

"I said, my life can become somewhat--"

"I heard what you fucking said, Severus! I just can't believe you would say that to me…"

"I-- Look, I'm not going to make excuses, and I'm not going to make apologies. I spoke the truth. Face it, Hermione. It's the way it is."

"Oh, I think I can see the way it is, Severus. I just didn't know that I meant that little to you."

What?

"But thank you for enlightening me."

I don't like the tone in her voice, not one bit.

"Hermione." My voice comes out a little hoarse, I clear my throat to try again. "Hermione, I know--"

"No, you don't."

"I don't?"

A glacial silence settles between us, I want her to say it again. I need her to say it again. I watch her carefully, indifferent to the tears in her eyes.

"You don't."

The tears flow freely down her face, and she turns away. Away from me. A sudden pain in my chest forces me to gasp and blink rapidly.

"Is there someone-"

"Merlin help you if you finish that sentence!"

I stare at her in mute confusion. Where did Hermione go? Who is this emotional beast before me?

"Harry's here," Hermione says softly. I look up in shock.

Harry?

Bloody fucking bastard of a Gryffindor, Potter? Terrific. I am so _fucking _pleased he has bloody well arrived. I don't have the energy for this level of intrusion. Strange, I didn't hear a knock. How the hell does she know he's here? I look around the room in confusion, noticing that Hermione won't meet my eyes. I follow her gaze to the shattered remains of what was once my pristine and orderly office. What on earth is going on? I am Severus Snape! I am dignified and I am organised and I am always, always clean and bloody tidy! I am never confused, I never sulk and I never, ever fucking cry! What's happened to me? I never used to be like this. I look at Hermione again and notice that she is staring back at me. I open my mouth to ask Hermione exactly when my life was uprooted this way when she beats me to it.

"Severus, Harry's here."

"Yes, I heard you." I feel a slight twinge of guilt when I see the flush creep over her cheeks, but it disappears when I look again around the room, noticing scattered papers that are definitely not work related and piles of dirty clothes that were definitely not made for adults.

Hermione moves past me without looking at me to open the door and allow Potter to step into my life. Again.

"Harry! Come in, we're so glad you could make it!"

_We_ are?

"Yes, I'm sure you are, Hermione." He bends to give Hermione a kiss on the cheek and I narrow my eyes pointedly in his direction. "I can see that the good professor here is ecstatic to see me, I can practically feel his excitement from here."

Bloody cheeky, smirking bastard.

"Potter."

"Hello."

I do so hope he starts a staring competition, I would like to triumph over him once more. I refuse to admit that perhaps the reason I really want to beat Potter at this, apart from the obviously euphoric pleasure that would inevitably result from such a thing, is the desire for Hermione to witness my trouncing of him. I would like for Hermione to see that I am perfectly capable of beating Potter at something other than every academic pursuit known to man. I refuse to admit this, I absolutely refuse. After all, I'm sure my very best glare speaks for itself in this case. However, after staring directly at him for almost a minute, I realise that he is not even looking at me. He is not even bothering to pay the slightest amount of attention to me. You'd think that he would have the decency to at least look at me. Common courtesy demands it, I demand it! Insolent brat.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asks, seemingly concerned.

Who?

"A little, thanks. My clothes have seen better days though. I must look a mess."

What?

"Not at all. I think you look great. Don't you? Professor?"

Huh?

"Oh! Oh yes, of course."

Hermione's looking a little sad. Bloody fucking hell, I hope that was the right answer.

"I, er-- I better go get changed. I'll be right back, Harry."

What is she getting changed for? Where is she going? I watch her leave the room in confusion, I notice that she again refuses to meet my eyes. Our bedroom door closes with a quiet click behind her. Doesn't she know that we were in the middle of a stilted and painful conversation? And she expects to go flouncing off before we're finished? I try to remember if she has mentioned anything about leaving the house today.

"You can't even remember where she's going, can you?"

Bloody Potter, what does he know about it?

"Professor, allow me to give you a little advice. Hermione is something of an emotional wreck right now." You're telling me! "She feels bad about herself and she doesn't understand why. Her hormones are playing tricks on her and she's nearing exhaustion. Gods, I haven't seen her this stressed since she couldn't remember how squeeze the juice out of her sopophorous beans."

I must admit, I found that particular incident highly amusing. That is, until she asked for instructions on how to do it. I was, of course, obliged to deduct points.

"Potter, this doesn't sound like advice, this sounds like glorified ailments."

"No, not glorified. They're there, you just haven't noticed."

Don't be a fool, I notice everything. Except for that one isolated incident where I didn't notice that Voldemort had taken up residence in a nearby turban. Kind of thing that could happen to anyone, surely.

"Potter, she is my wife. If there was something actually wrong with her, I would know. She would tell me."

"No, she wouldn't. She wouldn't tell you anything if she thought it would worry you. Ever since she got back from St. Mungo's, she's just been getting worse." You can say that again. "She's worried about the kids, she's worried about finding work when she's ready, she's worried that she'll never be ready, she's worried about her body and the time its taking to heal itself, but most of all she's worried about _you_. You and your stupid insecurities and pathetic excuses. She's worried that she's going to have to nurse you through every single little issue you've ever had with your relationship all over again. Hermione has nursed your trauma enough! She has put up with you questioning the way she feels about you, she has put up with what appears to be your all consuming jealousy and multiple neuroses, and she has put up with the way you've been acting since the kids were born. She's done it all, and she's done it well. She's done more for you than most people would even think about doing, and now it's your turn. It's _your _turn to nurse _her_ through her trauma, to nurse _her_ through her raging hormones and galloping paranoia."

Insolent, intruding brat.

What does he know about it anyway? When was the last time he was married with triplets? And I haven't seen him trying to instruct dangerously idiotic children in the art of potentially dangerous potions. And when exactly did he become a bloody expert on my wife, anyway? MY wife. I've known her just as long as he has, and I spend much more time with her than he does. Well, perhaps not quite so much as I used to, but honestly I just haven't been able to find the time.

"Potter, you don't know anything about the situation. There are complications that tend to make life--"

"Complicated? Well, there's something that is totally unique to _you, _Professor. No one else in the world suffers stress from being overworked and underpaid. No one else in the world has to deal with people they don't like on a daily basis. Gods, you must have become something of an expert on the subject, with you being the only reliable source of information on the topic."

"Potter."

"I'd almost go so far as to say you should publish an article about it in the _Daily Prophet _so that others may benefit from your genius. But then again, it really wouldn't make a difference because surely no one _else _could _ever_ experience the same level of pain that you are enduring at present."

Must not yell. Must not yell. Must not yell.

"Potter." I wince slightly at my tone but notice that he is unmoved. Surely my tone of voice is more impressive than that! Impudent brat!

"Well, that is the basis of your argument for why exactly you're treating Hermione this way, isn't it? You work too hard to support your family, you deserve a little rest when you get home. You deserve more than what you're getting, right?"

"Potter, Hermione is the one who is withdrawing from me. She is the one ignoring me! She's the one that always avoids me and avoids talking to me, using the children as a convenient excuse!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Don't you understand? Hermione is giving her time to the children because you fucking refuse to do it! You get home and do all that you can to avoid the children. Apart from a perfunctory bonding time, which I assume you see as your duty and obligation to be undertaken with supreme displeasure, what do you actually contribute to their day to day lives?"

"This isn't about the children! This is about Hermione and I."

"No, it's about all of you, because like it or not, you are one big family. You belong to each other and you are responsible for each other! This isn't about Severus Snape the individual, or even Severus Snape the husband. This is about you being husband to Hermione and father to your children as well as being yourself. Get used to it!"

"Potter, how can I remain the way I used to be with all the chaos those bloody b… er, children have brought with them? Look at this room! Look at what they've done to it!"

"You're justifying avoiding your family with a messy room? You've got to be fucking joking!" He turns to look at the room and draws his wand from his robes. "You mean that?" he asks, pointing his wand at the pile of clothes and having them fold themselves into a conveniently placed basket. "Or perhaps you're talking about that?" he continues, pointing his wand at the children's food, banishing it to Merlin knows where. "Or was it your desk that you were particularly miffed about?" He raises his wand again and with a few quick flicks, the parchment is flying around in a flurry of chaotic activity, the quills rearrange themselves and the ink stains disappear.

I am impressed. I am impressed beyond my will, which makes it much more difficult to compliment his fine wand work. Not that I would. Smirking, smug bastard.

"Yes, I can see why you'd need to ignore your children after that. It _was_ an awful lot of work."

I fear that the time has come for me to force my mind around a new and wholly unwelcome thought, a horrifying conclusion and a terrifying turn of events: Harry Potter was right.

Harry bloody Potter, the bloody fucking bastard of a Gryffindor with a smug smirk and malicious intent was right. And I was wrong. This is unacceptable.

"Professor?"

Totally unacceptable.

"Snape? You still with me?"

It appears I'm doomed to be with you for the rest of my life. Quick! Say something! Damn it, Snape! Focus! Don't let him know he got to you!

"Potter--"

"Harry? Are you ready to go?"

Hermione. I turn to look at her but she still won't meet my eye. I take in her appearance, noting the wrinkles in her robe and the bags under her eyes. Gods, I've got to fix this.

"Hermione--"

"We'll be gone most of the night so you may have to put the children to bed. I've talked to Albus--"

"Hermione."

"And he's expecting you for tea in an hour, and he would like you to bring the children."

"But--"

"Who knows, he might even offer to take them for the night and then you won't have to deal with them for longer than you're used to."

"Hermione."

"Let's go, Harry."

Potter walks out the door with a backwards glare directed at me. This is getting ridiculous.

"HERMIONE!"

"Please, don't shout."

She turns to face me with carefully emotionless eyes. Now I have her attention, I have no idea how to begin.

Alright, Snape. Sink or swim time. Do your worst.

"Hermione, you know that dealing with a family is not something I'm used to."

Imbecile!

Hermione's eyes flash with anger briefly before she controls her features again. "And what? Because I _had_ a family, I'm expected to know how to do this on my own? What? Because I _wasn't_ deprived as a child I need to be punished?"

"What do you know about it, anyway? You have no idea what my life has been like, what I've gone through!"

"I know that I can't do this anymore! I can't raise three children and coddle my husband as well. I can't do it by myself when I'm supposed to be _with_ you! You're supposed to be _with_ me, Severus."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you're not with me in this, then I'll go. I'll take the children and we won't clutter your life anymore."

Oh holy fuck! She's going to leave me!

"Hermione! You can't mean that!"

"Our children deserve better than this, Severus! I deserve better than this. Our children need more than one emotionally exhausted mother and half an unstable father." I'm not unstable! "So, I'll leave it to you. If you decide that you can't be with me in this, then I'm gone."

"Gone where?"

"What does it matter? I'll go and so will the children. Your life can return to the way it was. Clean, tidy and orderly. It's what you want, after all." She turns away from me again and reaches for the door handle.

"Where are you going?" I ask, noting the subtle desperation in my voice.

"I'm going out with Harry. You know that."

"But… shouldn't we, er… talk about all this?" I say, gesturing vaguely with my hand.

"No. I think I'm done talking. And I really do hate to tell you this, but occasionally my life can become somewhat _stressful, _and in lieu of any real _physical_ exertion, I need to find relaxation where I can. You understand, of course?"

All I can do is stare, as the door to our chambers closes behind her.

--


End file.
